The Second Sword of Braavos
by K.E.Degz
Summary: "Have you any relation to Syrio Forel?" asked Lord Stark with a grin. "I have the honor to be his only child, Lord Stark." She smiled in such a way that made him wonder if she was the same swordmaiden he had encountered in the woods earlier that day. AU. Set a tad before GoT. Theon/OC/Robb. Jon/OC. Throbb. Lemons. Rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Robb**

* * *

High summer was slowly coming to an end. Robb could feel the long summer ending, fading away like the sun slowly faded below the horizon at sunset. A long night was coming, and winter was coming. For now, though, it was good to enjoy the warm light in the Wolfswood.

And so it was that he rode with Theon Greyjoy, his father's Ward, and Jon Snow, his bastard half-brother along through the forest. Their game had been nothing but a few pheasant birds which Greyjoy shot with his arrows. The day was slowly beginning to fade, so it was that they rode back towards Winterfell.

Through the echoed woods, sounds bounced off the trees and birds suddenly flew overhead in a great shadowy blaze. The sounds of steel hitting steel and grunting and women screaming. Robb looked to Theon and Jon, who understood, and they took off galloping towards the sound. A pair of horses flew into the forest away from them, being ridden by a Wildling. Suddenly, a fair-haired, girl with a torn pink gown came bolting around the corner, flailing wildly and screaming.

She spotted Robb who rode to meet her. "Stop! Wait! Please!" she screamed, her green eyes flashing with tears. "My lady! Our carriage is being attacked! You must save my Lady!" Her voice was thick with either hysteria or a lilting accent of Essos, perhaps Myr.

"Where is she?" asked Robb, drawing his sword, Snow and Greyjoy following suit.

"Just around the corner! Please hurry! They will kill her!"

Rounding the corner as fast as they could, a scattered bunch of Wildling corpses in hide and fur armor lay around a carriage, where sword met axe in many clangs. Women screaming. Blood flew in waves on the trees. Men screaming.

Robb came towards the carriage as a Wildling grabbed a green-clad maiden by the hair and yanked her out of the carriage. Next to the carriage was, to his shock, a woman with long black hair dueling at length with another. Her sword, skinny as a needle, swung around the battleaxe and pierced the man's throat. She swung around gracefully in one movement and stabbed the man clean through the back of his leg. He fell to the ground as she came behind him and lifted his chin, stabbing through his neck.

The dark-haired woman dropped her sword and began to rush to the green-clad maiden when the last of the Wildlings grabbed her from behind by her hair. Robb rode into action with his sword drawn. The Wildling took out his knife and held it to the woman's throat.

"Yew stay back or I'll fuck 'er bloody wiff it!" he shouted through broken and rotted teeth.

"Release her at once!" Robb commanded with a voice as powerful as a wolf's howl.

"You- _Hurk_!" An arrow came from behind, sticking the Wildling man in the eye with the force of twenty punches. Robb spun around on his horse to see Greyjoy with his bow drawn. The pink-clad handmaiden came rushing out down the path and into the arms of the black-haired woman.

"My lady!" she sobbed hysterically. When Robb turned around, he saw it was the sword-maiden that was the Lady, and the two handmaidens who wept in her arms were her women. She looked up at Robb, whose heart stopped in his throat when their eyes met.

Greyjoy came off his horse with his bow and arrow at his side and approached the ladies. Robb then saw that the woman was bleeding from her cheek.

"You fool!" Robb shouted at Theon, who spun around in shock at his words. "How dare you loose that arrow?! You could have killed that poor girl!"

"Killed?! It was I who saved her!"

"What if you had missed?!"

"Oh, how dare you!?" The Lordlings looked up to the woman, who was limping towards them, her face twisted in anger, sword-in-hand. "How _dare_ you insult the man who has saved my life, you insolent prat?!"

Three men stood agape. Two women trembled behind one woman, who stood in a gown of orange silk, cut in a style Robb had never seen before. It was torn in several places, showing the white layers of her underskirt. Her voice was angry, with an odd lilt of an accent he hadn't ever heard before.

"Apologize!" she demanded, pointing her sword at him.

Robb felt Jon's eyes on the back of his head, and Theon's eyes as well. He somehow heard his goading smirk forming. Robb frowned. "Do you have any idea to whom you speak?" he said.

The woman's eyes went wide. She swept her head to glance around a bit, then held up her free hand. "Behold!" she said, motioning to the dead bodies around her, now seeming to Robb that they had been slain by her sword. "All the fucks I don't give!"

Theon's lips burst with a sharp spurt of air as he doubled over with a concealed laugh. He brought his clenched fist to his mouth and bit his thumb to keep from laughing at the woman's words, turning away from her and leaning against Robb's horse.

"I am Robb Stark, Lordson of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell," he announced, looking down at her with a stern Stark gaze.

The woman glared at him with her almond-shaped eyes. She was a foreigner, for her handmaidens had accents and strange clothes like she did. She had to have been from Essos, for her gown was not Northern nor Southern. Her skin was tanned, several shades lighter than copper. Had she not been so beautiful, Robb might not have been so unsure of what to say, other than announce his title, as if it mattered.

"The North," she said. "As in, where we are now?" Robb nodded. "So," she said, walking slowly towards him, her sword lowered, "it is _your_ fault, then, that these things have happened to us?" She asked as Robb dismounted his horse to come towards her, a stern look on his face. "What? Don't like the harsh truth? If you are truly a Lord of the North, then it is on _your_ lands that my men were killed, my horses robbed, my handmaidens scared witless, my things pillaged and life nearly taken? Are these the things you claim, my lord? Because if I were you, I would feel not pride, but shame. In fact, I would feel _such_ shame that I would never leave my home. I would sit in a ball, on my bed, under my sheets, and weep for the shameful things that were happening on _my_ lands."

Robb didn't know what to say. He had never seen a woman like her before, nor heard a woman raise her voice like that to him before - other than his own mother, of course. He could feel Theon and Jon were at a loss for words, too, for they simply stood there, barely breathing. The only real sounds there were was the sounds of her women sobbing and holding each other behind her.

"If these were common thieves, I would not think a thing of it," she continued. "For thieves take and leave. I may have even _given_ them something to eat, for those who are thieves cannot help themselves. But _these_, my Lord, were brigands. Bandits. Cut-throat ruffians, big enough to work as soldiers, swinging axes. Monstrous men who not only stole my horses, but meant to rape and kill my women and I. My body would be floating dead down a river, _naked_, this night, and all on your lands. And you dare to throw a stone at the man who took action to save us, instead of sitting pretty on a horse, barking orders with a mouth gaping open like a codfish?" Jon gasped and gulped in the background. "I command that you apologize."

Robb gulped. He kept his gaze steady with the woman's, who held her head just as high - if not higher - than his Lady mother's. Her hair was in disarray and with blood clotted in it . "You're right," he croaked, his mouth felt dry. Robb felt his knees shaking. "I beg for your pardon, Mi'Lady-"

"Not _my_ pardon!"said the woman, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. "His." She pointed to Greyjoy with the bloodied tip of her sword. Robb snapped his vision to his father's ward in shock, who was standing there just as wide-eyed as him. Then they exchanged glances, and Theon's trademark snarky grin spread across his full lips.

"Better give the Lady what she wants," he said, shrugging, unsure of what else to do. Greyjoy was always good at relieving tension. Robb nodded.

"I'm sorry, Theon."

He shook his head, grinning. "S'alright, Robb." Robb and Theon looked to the woman who seemed satisfied and sheathed her sword at her side. She turned away from them towards her handmaidens, who flew into her arms in hysterics. Robb then noticed that the foreign Lady was limping.

"Mi'Lady," said Robb, coming towards her. "Are you injured?"

She shook her head. Robb saw up-close that her cheeks were dotted with freckles and flushed with blood from the battle. "'Tis a flesh wound," she said.

"Please," he said, making her turn all the way towards him. "You're right," he said. "A Lord should take responsibility for his lands. And I'm deeply sorry for the loss of your men." She glanced down with a sigh. "As an apology," Robb continued, "I ask that you let me take you and your women to Winterfell. We have a Maester who will treat your wounds, lest the Rot get to you. You can rest there. And I will give you use of our horses to take you to wherever you'd like." He motioned for Theon to bring their horses towards the carriage. "Where were you headed, Mi'Lady?"

The foreign Lady cracked a smile. "Very far, my Lord. King's Landing," she said. "Tell me, is it true that the way of communication in Westeros is with the use of trained Ravens?"

"It's true," said Robb, confirming that she was from Essos in his mind.

"May I simply ask the use of them to deliver a message to my father, so he knows where I am and what's happened to me? He's expecting me in King's Landing."

"Yes, of course, Mi'Lady. Theon, help me hitch the horses to her carriage." The foreign Lady limped to a nearby rock as Jon rode towards them, quiet an shy. Theon and Robb made quick work of the horses. Theon was smiling the entire time. Robb tied them tight as Jon dismounted and began to put the door hinge back on the carriage for them.

Theon came and knelt at the foreign Lady's side. "May I see your leg, Mi'Lady?"

Robb turned over his shoulder to look at his father's Ward. She grinned apprehensively. "On the condition that I know the name of my noble Champion," she answered.

"Lord Theon Greyjoy, at your service. Your leg, Mi'Lady?"

She lifted her skirt to reveal dark-gray stockings and dark-colored shoes of fine leather and a high and thick heel. Theon removed his gloves and felt with his nimble fingers up and down her ankle and calf. She winced a little in pain.

"Theon, let's let the Maester look at her," said Robb, tightening the leathers on the horses.

"Looks like a nasty sprain," called Theon over his shoulder. Jon remained quiet, his face blushing red at the sight of her long legs. "It might swell to where she can't walk."

"Then let's get a move-on. Winterfell isn't far from here, Mi'Lady. We'll get you there as quick as we can. As an apology for your trouble, the hospitality of the North is yours."

The foreign Lady shrugged and sighed. "Very well, my Lord." She then said something in a liquid-sounding foreign language to her handmaidens. The fair one clad in pink helped her up, and the trembling dark-haired maid clutched onto her hand.

Theon reached out to her. "Mi'Lady, if I may-"

"No, no, I can walk, thank you," she said, limping towards the carriage with handmaidens on either side. "By the way, this is Darry, of Lys," she said, nodding pointedly to the fair-haired girl. "And the other is Qahari, from Braavos. I am afraid she doesn't speak the Commontongue very well."

The handmaidens smiled at the men, bowing their heads. Darry entered the carriage and held out her hands. "Slowly, please, my Lady," she said.

"Wait," said Robb. "We don't know your name."

The foreign Lady frowned for a brief moment, then suddenly gave a laugh. "Forgive me. It seems that the bloodshed of this day has made me forget pleasantries." Robb didn't know if that was a jape or not. "I am called Cadenzsa Forel, of the Free City of Braavos."

"Braavos!" said Robb. "You're far from home! What are you doing here?"

"I told you, I'm on my way to King's Landing." She boarded the carriage, Qahari holding her gown's train and tucking it in before entering the carriage. Jon closed the door gently and locked it. He gave his brother a questioning look.  
Theon came and boarded the carriage on to the driver's seat, taking the reins.

Jon didn't say anything, but came and mounted his horse to ride beside the carriage. The three men gave glances to each other, as if they weren't exactly sure of what exactly had just happened. It would have gone more smoothly and amiably had the Lady Forel been not so rough. But she was wielding a sword, and one that was dripping with blood. Robb saw her kill two men with ease. What kind of Lady did that?

"Ride beside the carriage," said Robb to Jon. "Keep an eye out for anyone else."

Jon nodded silently. Robb suspected that he was still in a bit of a shock from what happened. At least the carriage wasn't terribly damaged, he thought, even though he'd be willing to pay for the repairs it might take. It looked as if it were brand new.

Robb boarded the carriage and sat in the driver's seat next to his father's ward, who was smiling in such a way that it looked like he was holding back a great deal of laughs. Theon snapped the reins a bit to make the horses pull the carriage. He nudged Robb with his elbow.

"Smile, Lord Stark," japed Theon. "You just rescued a fair maiden."

Robb snorted through his nose. _Who does she think she is?_ thought Robb. But the more he thought about it, the more it was understandable. She was a foreign Lady, probably secretly scared witless of what had just happened to her. In truth, the thing was indirectly his fault. Surely, his father wouldn't object to letting the Lady stay in Winterfell until her leg healed.

"Ever seen a Braavosi girl before?" his father's Ward asked. "I've only seen one or two, they were short, fat things, and that was back in Pyke when I was still there. Nothing like this one. Dark-skinned...pretty." He shook his head with a wide grin. "What I wouldn't give for that wild thing to warm my bed. I'll bet she fucks like a minx."

"Shut your mouth, Greyjoy," said Jon Snow, frowning at him with that Stark gaze from his horse. "She's a Lady of High Birth. You can see it."

"Have you ever seen a Lady like that before? Ladies in Essos practice with swords?"

Robb shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen anybody wield a sword like that before. But I've heard about it. It's some Braavosi style. They call it 'Dancing.'"

"Did she kill all of those Wildlings by herself?" asked Jon, who was suddenly chatty. "What happened to her men?"

"I wager they were killed by the Wildlings," said Robb.

"But if they killed her men so easily, what kind of warrior is she that she can strike like that? And she's a lady of breeding?"

"Sounds like the Bastard's finally found a girl he likes better than his own hair," Theon japed.

"I said 'shut your mouth, Greyjoy!'"

"Enough out of you two!" ordered Robb. "Keep an eye out for more Wildlings. If we see them, kill them."

After a short ride to Winterfell, Robb summoned the Maester himself and took Lady Forel by the arm to the keep. Theon went off to tell Lord Eddard Stark of what had happened, and Jon tended to seeing that Lady Forel's things and her handmaidens were taken care of.

"Will she be alright, Maester Luwin?" Robb asked as the Maester felt around and examined her ankle, peeling away her dark stockings to reveal the soft brownish flesh beneath. Her skin reminded him a bit of brown sugar, or perhaps a pretty copper helmet. Or maybe just gold. Her toes were long and curled and her ankles slender.

"Looks like a nasty sprain," said the Maester. "Lady Forel, may I ask what happened?"

She shrugged. "One of the men whacked me in the thigh with a morningstar, which made me trip and twist it." She said it so nonchalantly, and Robb was in a bit of shock as the Maester bid her lift her skirt high enough to her rounded thigh, which was bloodied and bruised.

"Such a shame it tore through your lovely gown," said the Maester, taking some cotton swabs and dabbing them in hot water to cleanse her flesh.

"I have many gowns, Maester, think nothing of it."

"Such a lucky thing that Robb here found you, hm?" the Maester smiled.

Lady Forel glanced up at Robb with a knowing smirk. "Indeed," she said. "A most fortuitous encounter." Robb didn't know if it was a joke or not, but her smile was genuine enough so he didn't think much of it. "But I wonder, Maester Luwin, does Robb Stark ever smile?"

The Maester laughed. "About as much as his father."

As if on cue, Lord and Lady stark entered the Maester's turret. Lady Forel looked up in question, but smiled in a way that was so charming that he wondered if it was the same blood-soaked spearwife he had met earlier in the woods.

"Lady Forel," said Lady Stark, bowing her head. "I am Lady Catelyn Stark, and may I present my husband, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

She smiled. "A warm greeting to you, Lord and Lady Stark. Apologies for not standing in your presence, but my leg seems to be in Maester Luwin's custody."

"Lady Forel," said Lord Stark, "I have been informed at great detail of your plights thanks to my ward.

"At _great_ detail?" said Lady Forel, glancing at Robb.

"I apologize for your plight. I invite you to stay in Winterfell until your leg has fully healed, and the use of our Ravens to get word to your father."

"I don't wish to impose, Lord Stark, and Lady Stark. I have money - I will stay at the nearby Inn, if it pleases."

"No, please," said Robb, sounding a little more desperate than he wanted to. "It is only just that we should keep you here."

"My son is right," said Lady Stark. "And to hear of howyour men died...we are so sorry for your loss, Lady Forel."

"Such things happen," said Lady Forel with a wistful shake of her head.

"Lady Forel," said Lord Stark, "I hear you come from Braavos?"

"I do," said she proudly. "I am off the boat from Braavos just early this morning."

"And such a rough greeting for you, too," said Lord Stark. "Forgive me if I intrude, but are you at all related to the Braavosi Dancing Master Syrio Forel?"

Upon Lady Forel's face grew a smile Robb hadn't ever seen before. "I have the honor to be his only child, Lord Stark."

Robb's father smiled a toothy grin. "I knew your father a very long time ago. You were probably a wee thing when he was in Westeros last."

She laughed. "I was! And he is here again. Which is why I was traveling to King's Landing, to greet him."

"Off the boat from Braavos to the North," said Lady Stark, wringing her hands. "One might think that it would be an easier trek were you to boat there directly. Such a long road can have an effect on people."

Lady Forel shook her head. "I wanted to come and dock here in the North, so I could travel down Westeros's famed King's Road and see the land for myself. It is so rare I get to travel to new places such as these." She then laughed. "Perhaps it would have been wiser to sail straight to King's Landing as you say, Lady Stark."

Lord Stark nodded with a smile. "Adventurous," he said. "Your father was the same. He liked Westeros when he was here, and he traveled the King's Road once, too. I'll send your father a raven myself in King's Landing and let him know you're here."

"Thank you, Lord Stark. Lady Stark."

"We'll have a warm room for you and your handmaidens made up," said Lady Stark. "Perhaps after you rest a bit, you'd care to join us in the Great Hall for feasting?"

"If it's not any trouble," said Lady Forel.

Lord Stark shook his head. "Any daughter of Forel's is a friend to the Starks. Robb," he said to his eldest son, "let's let Lady Forel rest a bit."

Robb bowed his head to Lady Forel, who smiled in return and turned her attention to the Maester. Robb and his parents left the room and stopped out in the hall. Lady Stark went to make preparations for the feast. Ned and his son walked together.

"Greyjoy told me what happened," said his father.

"Did he tell you everything?" Robb asked.

"You mean did he tell me that she called you a prat?" Robb couldn't help but laugh. "Greyjoy's always been a blunt one. But she is right, you know. Though you can't control the Wildlings, it is on our heads when an innocent man dies. We are the Wardens and keepers of the North."

"I know."

"It's the right thing to do by keeping her here, especially since she's the daughter of an old friend of mine."

"I know." There was a long pause as they walked. "I saw her fight. I saw her kill two men that were twice her size like it wasn't anything to her."

"Her father is the First Sword of Braavos, which is the greatest Swordsman in the city. Bravosi people practice such a dueling style, a thing called Water Dancing, and that's what you saw today, most-likely."

"But she's..."

"'A woman?'"

Robb looked up, and slowly nodded.

"Essos is a different land. Braavos is a different city. It's the world, Robb. Did you think it would be small?" Ned smiled. "It takes a few days for a raven to get to King's Landing from here. We'll hear back from her father in a week or so. Then you'll never have to see her again, if she bothers you so much."

"She doesn't _bother_ me," said Robb, keeping his eyes forward. He then smirked. "Best keep her away from Arya. She'll never let Lady Forel out of her sight if she hears about a Lady playing with swords."

* * *

Thanks for the read, you guys! I'll be updating this and "The Grey Lady" periodically, so that way it will be not only more fun for me to write, but it'll be a mystery for YOU to see how the story unfolds! Read, Review, Follow...whatever it is the kids are doing nowadays!

Also, this was my first time EVER writing for Robb. So be gentle on me! 3


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Jon**

* * *

He wasn't exactly sure what shock was, for he had not experienced it coming from a woman, but he imagined that it felt somewhat like this. He'd never seen a woman that wasn't a Wildling Spearwife, all hair and rough-cut furs and roughspun linens, fight. Just a few hours before, he'd seen a woman with a skinny sword flick her wrist and two men were dead.

Jon didn't quite know _why_ it had never occurred to him that women could wield a sword or weapon just as well as a man could. Women have arms, too. Women have legs, too. It had just somehow never crossed his mind that he'd see a woman wield a sword as skillfully as any proven warrior would. It was silently agreed upon by the three men that nobody would tell Arya.

Jon held his practice sword with one hand, holding it level to the ground. He swung it with his wrist and hit the practice dummy a few times. He wanted to crouch and hit it with power, for that felt natural, but he was curious as to how Lady Forel did it. He wouldn't ask, though. He would never speak to her unless she spoke to him; it would be so rude.

He knew his place in the Stark household. He didn't hate Lady Stark, of course; at least, that's what he kept on telling himself. He didn't have the Stark name. It wasn't his fault. He would tell himself a great many thing to make himself feel better. Some nights it got so hard that he cried himself to sleep. He was a near-grown man, though, so he didn't cry as much, if only because he was told that men don't cry.

"My Lord," came a foreign voice from behind. Jon spun around to see Lady Forel, standing a yard behind him wearing a long black gown that was fitted tight around her slender waist. It flared out with many ruffles at the skirt, which started quite low at the hip. Her sleeves were long and tight, which clung down to the wrist, where it then flared out lightly with black lace. He bowed his head and stared at her hands.

"Good evening, Lady Forel," said Jon, as politely as he could. He felt nervous; he didn't want to get an earful like Robb did.

"And to you," she said pleasantly. "I was on my way to the feast when I saw you, so I thought I might come get you." He looked up with a questioning glance. "Did nobody tell you that it was starting?"

It took a moment for him to realize that nobody told her. Or perhaps she was playing a cruel joke? She didn't seem the type, but he said "I shouldn't, my Lady."

A smile was on her lips, but a frown was in her eyes. "I offend you?"

"No, no, my Lady, of course not!" he said, shaking his head furiously. Realizing that he still had his sword in his hand, he let it down. "It's not you. It's me. I don't think...well, I didn't want to offend you, you see, by being there." She looked confused. "I'm not a Stark." It felt like a confession for a crime.

"Neither am I, but I'm still going to the feast," offered Lady Forel, still not quite getting it.

"Lady Stark..."

"Yes?"

It was painful to say. Even more painful was the realization that he might have to explain to Lady Forel, a foreigner, what a bastard was, and what it meant to be one. Still, she waited patiently for him to finish. She stood so tall, with her head held so high. She would have been less intimidating had she not been so beautiful.

"Lady Stark wouldn't want to offend our guests with the presence of the bastard." He kept his tone even, but the word 'bastard' was said with disdain.

Lady Forel blinked with a frown. "Do you mean _you_?"

A beat. "Yes."

"Bastard means...?" A great fear; she didn't understand. Perhaps the Bravosi people didn't have a word for Bastard?

"Lord Stark is my father..."

"...But Lady Stark is...?"

"...Not my mother."

"Oh." Another beat. "I do not mean to pry, but do you know where your mother is?" It took a moment, but Jon shook his head. "So Lord Stark has brought you here to raise amongst his own?" Jon nodded. "And Lady Stark..." Lady Forel then laughed. "Westerosi culture...so strange." She sighed. "So, what, they don't feed you? You look too big and strong to be starved."

"I eat," said Jon.

There was a very long pause. Lady Forel rubbed her hands a bit from the cold Northern air, keeping her eyes on Jon. He couldn't read her expression. Finally, she took in a long breath through her nose, and offered her arm.

"Come on, eat with me," she said. "Escort me to the feast."

Jon gulped, glancing around to see if anybody was watching. There would be Hells to pay should they see the Bastard of the North with a Lady like her. "My Lady, I cannot-"

"Well, you also cannot just let a cripple walk to feasting by herself, can you?" A pause. Lady Forel laughed. "Just let me lean on you. I'm hobbling like an old man. If Lady Stark feels that I will be offended by having you there, then I will simply tell her that I wish to dine with my hero."

Jon wrung his hands in his gloves uncomfortably. "Greyjoy shot the arrow, not me."

"But you were still there," she said. "Come, I will be more offended should you not dine with me." Her voice was lilting in and out between Braavosi accented words and a perfect Westerosi accent. Jon didn't know what to say, but to refuse a Lady - and their guest, no less - would be wrong.

"I'm a little dirty, my Lady," said Jon, trying to deter her.

"I don't mind," said Lady Forel. "As long as you are there. Come." She held out her arm. Jon began to reach for her, but shyly retracted. He gave her a pleading, unsure gaze, as if to doubly ask her permission. She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh and took him by the wrist to loop his arm around hers. He almost jumped at her touch, but went well enough along with it. "Now, just be polite and let me lean on you a little while I walk. And, please, if we're going to be seen together, stand up straight?" Jon stood up straight. "Now shoulders back. Head high." He complied, feeling strangely out of place. "Just so," she said. "Shall we, my lord?"

They began to walk slowly, Lady Forel limping on her right side towards him. "You don't have to call me 'my lord,'" he whispered, afraid that somebody might hear.

"What then to call you?" she asked. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. "What do other people call you?"

_What don't they call me_? Thought Jon. _Bastard. Snow. Lord Snow..._ "Jon Snow is what they call me. Jon is fine, my Lady."

"Jon?" She nodded, satisfied. "Cadenzsa."

"I shouldn't, my Lady-"

She sighed. "So many rules of Court..."

Who should happen to round the corner as they were entering the castle corridor but Lady Stark. Jon immediately felt that tightness in his stomach, that awful knot, that sickness that made him want to run and hide. The look on her face. Her tight jaw, that tiny flare of her nostrils, that was unnoticeable to anybody but him. Jon knew she hated him, no matter how hard he tried to keep out of her way, he knew how much him just _being_ was infuriating to her. Lady Forel didn't notice. She greeted Lady Stark warmly.

"A warm good evening to you, Lady Catelyn Stark," she said. "Jon has been kind enough let me lean on him while we walk to the feast."

There was a great tension between them, though Lady Forel did not sense it. Or perhaps she did, for she then said: "My handmaidens will be so thrilled to sit next to their rescuer tonight. They haven't been able to stop chatting about Jon's bravery. You don't _mind_ that he's escorting me, do you?"

Lady Stark swallowed hard, tightening her hands. "If you are certain he will not _offend_ anyone..."

"I cannot think of a single reason why this brave paladin would," said Lady Forel. "Shall we go?"

A pause. "You go on ahead, I'll be with you in a moment." Lady Stark brushed passed Jon, who was shaking inside.

"You didn't have to do that," he whispered, slouching next to her as they kept walking.

The Bravosi girl shook her head with a grin. "What does anybody _have_ to do?" Lady Forel asked. "You _have_ to eat, you _have_ to sleep. But you don't have to be polite to survive. You don't have to say please and thank you. You don't have to live by honors and prayers. You don't have to eat cooked meat. You don't have to live in a stone house. A man can live off of only carrots and turnips and beans if he has to. What man truly _has_ to do anything? These stigmas and taboos and courtesies are all things that Man creates. In the end, the God of Death finds us, polite or not."

_"_My Lady?"

"All I'm saying is that we live by arbitrary rules that we invent. Not the Gods, but Man. For all we know, the Gods could be something that we've invented to make ourselves feel better." She turned to him with a grin on her full lips. "Tell me, do you pray, Jon?"

"To the old Gods," he answered, a little unsure if she knew who they were.

Lady Forel looked ahead and shook her head slightly. "Old Gods, new Gods... In Braavos, they honor all Gods from all over the world. Do you know this? Sailors, pirates, soldiers, captains, Sealords and courtesans...they all pray to different Gods. I heard a pirate king, once, say that the only God that there truly was lied between a woman's legs," she laughed, Jon blushed furiously. "When I was a child, I asked my father which God was the right one. My father told me that there is only one God, and His name is Death." She smiled at Jon. "And you only say one thing to the God of Death. Do you know this?" Jon shook his head, confused. "'Not today.'" She gave a tiny scoff. "Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten myself." They stopped. A beat. "Aren't you going to get the door?"

Jon looked up to see they were in front of the Great Hall's door. He silently cursed at himself and opened the door for her. She smiled as he came back immediately to hold her arm. As if she could feel his anxiety, she patted the top of his hand gently. "You'll be fine," she whispered.

The Great Hall was set up for a feast, with onion tarts, warm bread, lots of cheeses, stuffed pigeons, and - from the looks of it - the pheasants the men had bagged that morning had been roasted. There was squash, too, and beans. Jon had to keep on telling himself that to be polite to their guest was the right thing to do. He got a knowing glance from his father, who understood, but also feared Lady Catelyn's wrath.

Well, fear wasn't the right word. Fear was for the winter. Lord Stark didn't fear his wife; he respected and loved and cared for his wife. He and Lady Stark were devoted to each other, and the only unhappiness in their marriage was him, Jon Snow, simply just being.

The Stark children were lined up in a row, dressed to feast. Robb cracked a tiny smile, and gave a nearly invisible nod to Jon on Lady Forel's arm. Sansa, pretty as ever in a pale blue gown, didn't quite know what to think. Arya smiled, and so did Bran, until he looked at his mother, who seemed to be faking a smile. Rickon wasn't frowning. He was happy to see everybody.

"Lady Forel," said Lord Stark, coming forward. "Let me introduce you. I think you and Robb have already gotten acquainted, though," said he with a smile.

Lady Forel smiled at Robb, who smiled back. They both seemed apprehensive, a little shy. Jon figured that they probably didn't know how to act around each other, considering how they'd met. Robb wanted to make things right; he was the firstborn. He would be Lord Stark after his father.

"Good evening, Lady Forel," said Robb, whom Jon could see was nervous. He didn't blame him for being so nervous. "I hope you feel better."

"I do, thank you," she said, bowing her head. Jon walked her down the line to see Sansa, who was, no doubt, enamored by the elaborate detailed stitching in Lady Forel's gown.

"And this is Sansa, my eldest daughter," said Lord Stark.

"Greetings, Lady Forel," she said.

"And to you, dear. Aren't you a pretty thing."

"Arya, my younger daughter."

Arya curtsied. "Lady Forel, is it true you killed wildlings in the forest today?"

"Arya!" shrieked Sansa in horror.

"Where are your manners!" admonished Lady Stark. "I apologize, Lady Forel."

"Oh, it's quite alright." Lady Forel, who found the whole thing rather amusing, shook her head, laughed and said "I think that might be a rough subject for dinner, sweet girl. Perhaps we'll talk about that over dessert?" Arya was about to say something else, but Jon gave her a scolding look, which made Arya simply nod and step back. They continued down the line.

"Ah, this is Brandon," said Lord Stark, who was probably not at all surprised that Arya had gotten wind of Lady Forel's swordsmanship. Or, perhaps, was it swordswomanship?

Bran gave a respectful nod. "Hello, Lady Forel." He looked nervous. He gave his elder brother a questioning look, which Jon returned. Perhaps he could feel the tension from Lady Stark and him? Or was it between Robb and Lady Forel?

"Hello, little Lord," said Lady Forel, bending a little to look him in the eye. "Aren't you a handsome thing. Do you smile?" She tickled at his belly a little playfully.

Bran giggled a little and gave a big toothy grin. Lord Stark laughed a little, too. He gestured to little Rickon, who had a smudge of flour on his face. He was probably in the kitchen, again, stealing sweetrolls. He smiled at Lady Forel big and wide.

"And this is Rickon, our youngest." Lord Stark gave the little lord a tiny hair tousle.

Rickon stepped forward and held out a red poppy. "I picked this for you, Lady Forel. I hope your leg gets better."

"Why, thank you!" With a great big toothy smile, she knelt down and took the poppy from his tiny hand. "Such a gentleman!" she said. She tucked the flower's stem into the left breast of her gown, so it stood proudly like a pin. Jon caught the tiniest glimpse of her breasts before he looked up and away. He then caught Theon Greyjoy, smirking as he stared. Jon glared angrily at him when they caught eyes.

"How does it look?" asked Lady Forel to Rickon.

"Very pretty," he said.

"Just so." She smiled up at Jon. "Help me up, please?"

Jon gently took her arm back as she pulled herself up, wobbling on her weak leg. He'd had injuries like that before; the battle-blood running high keeps you from hurting, but once things calm down, you _really_ feel it. If she'd gotten hit with a morningstar like Robb had said, then Jon was simply impressed that she was standing and that her bone hadn't shattered.

"Is Jon staying for dinner this time?" Rickon asked suddenly.

Jon gulped. Lady Forel patted his hand and said "I would be very sad if he didn't stay." Robb smiled at him. Theon shrugged with a smile, but Jon could hear his snarky voice saying some cruel joke. No matter, though, for he was now escorting a beautiful Lady to her seat at the feasting table. He pulled out her chair and went to the far end of the table to sit, near the door, where he often did. He didn't want to give Lady Forel the chance to object to him sitting all the way over there, for she was the guest of honor and Jon didn't want to sit near Lady Catelyn. He didn't want to anger her.

The feast was delicious, of course, since their cook was quite good. The Starks also dined with a delicious and sweet blackberry wine that Lady Forel had brought with her on her journey, and insisted that she shared. It was her mother's favorite, she said, and Jon believed her when she said that it was so sweet-smelling that it attracted more flies than honey did.

It was not an elaborate feast, for it had been made on such short notice, but Lady Forel did not seem to mind. Jon kept an eye on her the entire evening, watching her eat, drink, and make merry. She was so charming and jovial, and her accent was something that Jon found quite lovely.

"Lady Forel," asked Sansa, taking care to show how perfectly she could operate a knife and fork with her squab, "do you have any brothers or sisters?"

The lovely Braavosi shook her head. "It's only me," said she. "And, please, you may call me Cadenzsa, if you like."

Sansa smiled. "That's a pretty name," she said.

"I think Sansa is a pretty name, too. It reminds me of the sound a soft wave makes when it hits the sand." She lowered her voice to a soft whisper, and swayed back and forth with a few waves of her hands. "Saaaansaaa... Saaaanssaa..." Sansa and Robb both laughed. Lord Stark gave a tiny scoff with a smile.

Arya was itching to ask Lady Forel about the swords again; Jon could see it from how she was bouncing in her chair. He gave her a few scolding glances, to which she obeyed, reluctantly. He liked Arya; she was a square peg in a round hole like he was.

"Will Cadenzsa be staying with us long, father?" Arya then asked.

"Until her leg heals, at least," said Lord Stark, sipping the wine. Lady Forel smiled.

"Your father is quite generous," said the lady to Arya. "My father and your father know each other from a long time ago. Did you know that?" Arya shook her head. "I imagine that it was from one of the many wars that Westeros has had to endure?"

Lord Stark nodded. "Something like that," he said. "Lady Forel's father is Braavosi, just like her," he said to his daughter. "He told me all about Braavos. He told me once that if I should ever like to visit, he would show me about."

Lady Forel grinned. "I'm sure that the offer is still well on the table, Lord Stark. And, of course, should any of you - " she glanced at Jon with a twinkle in her eye " - at all should like to visit Braavos someday, I would be honored should you enjoy my family's hospitality. We have a beautiful manse on our own island."

"You have your own island?" Theon then asked, looking over his goblet of wine.

She nodded. "We do, Lord Greyjoy. Braavos is a city which sprawls across over a hundred small islands. We have a few streets, yes, but we mostly have canals that take us all over the city. The manse has been in our family for many years, but for a time we lived in the Sealord's Palace. It was beautiful there; so vast with towers and domes...and a garden where I could run around with the other children. The kitchen in the SeaLord's palace was the size of _three_ of these rooms! I used to sneak in there when I was little and steal oranges." She giggled. "My mother was furious when she found out. 'Why steal?' she said. 'You can have anything you want, as long as you ask nicely!'"

"So why did you?" asked Bran.

Lady Forel shrugged. "I think I did it for the game of it. I didn't see much harm in it, considering that there were always so many oranges in the Palace, for the Sealord at the time loved them. I also used to climb on rocks and the palace walls, which made my father furious."

"I like to climb!" said Bran.

"Which you're not supposed to do," said Lady Stark gently.

Lady Forel nodded. "She's right. Climbing can be dangerous. I fell and broke my arm, once. Thankfully, it was while I was still living at the Palace, so I got help right away. After that I took to swimming instead. Braavos is located on a beautiful lagoon, where we get our fish and clams and oysters to eat. So I swam all the time to make my arm strong again. Have any of you ever had clams from Braavos before?"

"Not from Braavos, my Lady, but we get ours from the coasts nearby," said Robb. "They are small, sweet things."

Lady Forel smiled. "The clams in Braavos are huge. I mean, really, huge - the size of a grown man's fist. And their shells are sandy-colored and ridged, like mountain ranges." She sighed. "Maybe I'll send for some to make for all of you as a thank you."

"That would be nice," said Robb.

Jon caught eyes with her; she smiled happily and raised her goblet to him. They were dark, like his, and deep. He had never been a part of the feasting when a guest was there. He was usually kept aside as an unfortunate secret. Being there was a glimpse into what it felt like to be a Stark; to be part of a family. He would have been able to enjoy it more, though, had Lady Stark not given him silent glares all night.

"Lady Forel," said Lady Stark, trying to distract herself it seemed, "what else does a Braavosi lady do in her spare time? I'm sure that the girls would like to hear of it."

Sansa smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes, please."

"Do all ladies in Braavos get to play with swords?" Arya asked.

"Arya!" shouted Sansa.

"No, no, it's alright," said Lady Forel. "To answer your question, Arya, Ladies in Braavos do mostly as they please. So, if a lady pleases herself to become a Dancing Master, she does this thing and studies very hard. Or if she pleases herself to learn music, she does this. It is a Free City, so a Lady does what she likes. But on warm evenings, I like to take my canoe and row around the city, drifting around the canals and out in the middle of the lagoon, where the moon is so large and shiny on the water you might think you could step out and dance on it. Braavos is a city for lovers; and adventure, of course."

"Do you play music?" Sansa asked with a smile.

"My mother taught me," said the Braavosi. "I sing and dance, and I can play the harp, lute, and stone flute as well."

"I'd like to hear you play," said Robb, who seemed to have meant to keep that as an internal thought that he blurted out loud on accident. Jon saw the slight in his face right after he said it.

After dinner, Lady Forel's handmaidens - who had enjoyed dining with the other staff of Winterfell - brought in musical instruments. The Maester joined in to hear the songs, too, as did quite a few of the kitchen staff, that watched from the door. Her handmaidens were musicians, too, it seemed; played the drum, and the other played the harp. Lady Forel played the lute, quite skillfully, and she sang songs from Braavos that were beautiful but Jon didn't understand. Her voice was so strange; it was powerful and she sang out loud, but her voice lilted and fell and rose, each note like a wave of light going up and down. He had never heard anybody sing in that manner before. After two jovial songs in the beautiful language, which sounded like drops of water hitting a pond, she looked up to the applauding audience and said:

"When I was learning the Commontongue, I began translating songs of Braavos that I knew into your language. The words may not make much sense, but this is one of my favorites. It's a song that appears in a play. The female lead sings it to a handsome young Prince, who steals her heart at the end." Sansa swooned, loving every moment of it. She was such a little girl, dreaming about knights in shining armor.

She began plucking the strings in a playful tune that went up and down, up and down, in a simple way. The harp joined in. Then the gold-haired handmaiden began beating on the drum softly.

_"Hush, now, let's go quiet to the lake, where it first started -  
_

_Cold nights, us lying in the dark, i felt my heart  
_

_Was trying to find a place for you to stay, a place where I'd feel safe-" _Her voice came up high, and then she began strumming the lute rhythmically.

"-_Anything we have known_

_Anything we've forgotten...  
_

_In the rain, in the dark, we'll lay  
_

_In your arms, in your arms I'll stay..."  
_

__Jon watched her eyes, which were very exciting and expressive. She smiled with her full lips as she played. Sansa sighed at the lyrics, which were quite sweet and romantic.

"_Take my hand, let's go into the trees..._

_Behind the branches, falling on our knees -  
_

_I remember feeling like this part of us would never change...  
_

_Anything we have know-oooon...  
_

_Anything we've forgotten -  
_

_In the rain - in the dark, we'll lay  
_

_In your arms, in your arms I'll stay - "_

As Jon watched her, he felt a smile growing. He glanced to his side to see Robb, quite transfixed, hypnotized, even. As the song continued, he watched his brother smile. No doubt, he was falling in love with her. What was more odd was when he looked to Greyjoy, who was wearing an expression Jon hadn't ever seen before on him. With creeping horror, Jon realized soon that, as Lady Forel finished her song, he might be witness to a rivalry between the two men that were close as brothers, over the love of a woman.

Not that Jon really blamed them, though. As she rose and bowed on her lame leg, the hall of Winterfell erupted with applause, Jon felt that - if he had the chance - he'd like to love a woman like that, too.

Jon escorted Lady Forel back to her room after the feasting and songs. Lady Stark invited Lady Forel to sit with them tomorrow and do their needlework. Lady Forel agreed, saying that she'd never done it before and would like to learn. Sansa was shocked, of course, at this, as was Arya. Jon figured that if a father allowed his daughter to do swordplay, he wouldn't need to let her do needlework, too.

"Thank you for being my escort, Jon," said Lady Forel.

Jon smiled. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Forel."

"Cadenzsa."

"Cadenzsa." Her name was strange; beautiful. "Cadenzsa," he tried again. "It's a pretty name."

"I was named for my grandmother," she said. She yawned a little. "Forgive me."

"I'm sorry. Go rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Lady-"

"-Cadenzsa," she admonished.

"-Lady Cadenzsa," said Jon. "Good night." He gulped and bowed and ran off to his room before anyone could see how furiously red his face was. His father's Ward was waiting for him on his bed.

"Get a kiss from the Lady, Snow?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" Jon demanded.

Theon smiled and rose, stretching. "I'll bet that's the first time a guest _asked_ to sit with Ned Stark's bastard." Jon felt sick, his face flushing red. "Lady Stark was furious," continued Greyjoy. "And you know? It was great." Jon looked up in shock. "No, I mean it. To see her so mad and to not be able to do anything about it!" He punched Jon playfully in the arm. "I'll bet that felt good, after all the Hells she's put you through."

"Do not speak ill of Lady Stark!" said Jon.

"Alright, alright," said Greyjoy, shrugging. "But I'll bet if you play your cards right, you'll get to eat with us the entire time she's here, and Lady Stark won't be able to say a damn word about it. Won't that be great?" His father's Ward patted him on the shoulder and went for the door. "I like that Braavosi girl. I hope she stays a nice long time."

And Theon left, leaving Jon in his room, alone.

* * *

R&R! New chapter will be up soon, coming from Theon's POV. Or Possibly Cadenzsa's. Not sure yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Theon**

* * *

Theon was not a religious man. He barely prayed anymore, because the old gods were everywhere, but he was not near the sea. Some days, he felt so dry from the lack of salt and spray in the air. He often felt very far from his home in the Iron Islands, which was, perhaps, the reason he was so good at archery. When he held his bow in his hand and drew back the quiver to fire, he felt - for the briefest of moments - that he was connected to his home again.

He loved archery; he loved everything about it. The tension, the rising anticipation, the slowing of time as that one perfect shot came into view, and that oh-so-satisfying release and **_thump _**as your arrow hit the target. If you thought about it, it was a lot like lovemaking - for both took a great deal of skill and effort to do it very well. Theon knew he was good at lovemaking, too. The thought had crossed his mind that Ros had faked it many times, but the other girls that he'd fucked couldn't fake it, and Theon knew the difference when a woman was faking climaxing or not. He knew when it was real.

It's not a pretty thing, in truth, when a woman comes for real. She loses all control, from her head to her toes, and she wants to convulse violently, but her body arches and stays where it is for fear of changing how good it all feels. It's like getting washed over by a tidal wave, or perhaps an earthquake in your cunt. He didn't know, though, because he didn't have a cunt. But that's the way it looked. It wasn't pretty, but once you saw it, you knew you wanted it over and over and over again.

Theon took in a deep breath as he drew this next arrow; the tension felt good against his strong shoulders and arms. _**Thump **_went the arrow as it sailed into the target's heart. He liked the whistling sound an arrow made when it flew through the air like that; you knew you'd pulled the quiver back far enough if it makes that whistling sound. You knew you did it right, too, when you heard the impact. It was like a thousand tiny punches all at once. Theon drew another arrow.

"Lord Theon Greyjoy," came a voice from behind him. He turned over his shoulder and relaxed the arrow to see the foreign Lady standing there, leaning gently on one leg to keep weight off of her injured one. That color blue she was wearing reminded him of the sea after a storm.

"M'Lady," he said.

"Good day, my noble Champion." She all but laughed. "You can just call me Cadenzsa, if you like," she said.

He smirked. "Cadenzsa," he tried. "It's different."

"Theon's different, too." She said his name with a more 'd' sound or a hard 't' sound than a 'th' sound at the beginning. Probably her accent. Theon wasn't sure if he liked it or not. "I never got the chance to properly thank you for saving our lives the other day." Theon laughed and bowed.

"It was my pleasure, Cadenzsa."

She pointed at the target. "You're very good at that, you know," she said.

"All Greyjoys are expert archers," he said with a smile, drawing another arrow and shooting it at the heart of the target again, as if to prove his point. Cadenzsa applauded. Theon, when he looked, saw the many freckles on her cheeks; he didn't know that Braavosi had freckles. "Are Forels expert swordsmen?" he asked.

Cadenzsa shrugged. "I haven't met a Forel that is _not_ an expert...swordsman? We call them Dancing Masters, where I come from. I think it sounds nicer."

"Dancing Master" laughed Theon.

"Of course!" said Cadenzsa, gesturing greatly with her long-fingered hands. "What is a sword-fight but a dance between the swords and wielders? What is a battle but a dance between fighters? What is a conversation but a dance between words and lips and tongues? I like to know about every kind of dance there is."

Theon smirked with a nod. "I see your point. Must admit, though, never seen a woman do what you did." He loosed another arrow to impress her, which she was.

"Really?" Cadenzsa seemed genuinely happy and amused at this. "I think that's strange... So many strange things in Westeros."

"So it's your first time in Westeros, I take it?"

"It is." Another arrow met its target with a **_thump_****. **"I've never seen so many trees in all my life."

Theon laughed. "They don't have trees where you come from?"

"Not really, no," she said. "But there is a great island near our lagoon in Braavos that has hundreds and hundreds of pine trees which act as windbreakers from the sea. It's illegal to cut them down. We get our firewood in from other lands."

"So you're a sea-faring people," said Theon as he drew another arrow.

"We are," said Cadenzsa, growing more and more impressed with each _**thump **_that Theon caused. He knew, because the admiration was easy to hear in her voice.

"We are, too, where I come from."

Cadenzsa nodded and gestured with her hand, as if she was saying 'aha'. "See? I knew you couldn't possibly be from around here. Where are you from?"

Theon looked over her shoulder with a grin. "That obvious, eh?" She nodded. "The Iron Islands," he said proudly.

She looked up for a moment, as if glancing at an internal map. "'The Iron Islands...'" She thought for a moment. "They're not very far away?"

"Far enough," he said. "On the other side of the continent from you. It's a cold and miserably dreary place, in truth, but hard places raise hard men. And hard men rule the world. My father told me that, once."

"Just so," she said as he loosed another arrow, the grouping with the **_thump_**s growing more and more close together. "So your father is back on the Iron Islands?" she asked. Theon nodded. "I hope you will not be offended at my asking, but why are you here if your father is there?"

An uncomfortable subject, but Theon answered honestly "I'm a Ward for the Starks."

"What is word meaning?" Cadenzsa asked. Silly foreign girl.

"A Ward is like a guard. I follow Lord Stark's orders, protect him and his family, do what needs to be done..."

"You mean like a Knight?"

Theon almost rolled his eyes. "No, not a knight. A Ward."

"So..." she furrowed her brow. "You're a servant?" she asked. "But why do we call you Lord if you are a servant?"

"I'm not a servant, I'm a Ward," said Theon. "And I'm called Lord because my father is Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, and I'll be Lord after him."

Cadenzsa frowned as if she didn't understand. "Like how Robb Stark will be Lord Stark once his father dies?"

"Something like that," he said, drawing another arrow. He noticed how deep and dark and brown her eyes were. _**Thump.**_

"But if you are Robb Stark's equal, then why do you serve for his father as if you are not?" She said her 'r's like a cat purring. It rolled and flourished like a drum.

Theon inwardly cringed, but he had his bow and that was all he needed to be calm. So he told her, as calmly as he knew how. "My father was the King of the Iron Islands. Ten years ago, led a rebellion against Robert Baratheon, the King. We were outnumbered ten-to-one. My two older brothers were killed in the rebellion, and I was taken from the Iron Islands to be a Ward for the Starks, ensuring my father's good behavior. The only one left of us with my father is my sister, Asha."

"You mean you're _trapped_ here? You're a hostage?"

Theon immediately regretted telling Cadenzsa the truth, for she looked pale and about to be sick. He dropped his bow and took her hand to lean against the table where Bran and Maester Luwin had their lessons. She held her hand to her breast, which was now heaving and shaking as if she were about to cry.

"My Lady, please-"

She gripped his wrist. "-Cadenzsa, please-"

"-If I have upset you then I apologize-"

"-Stop it," ordered Cadenzsa. "You're a hostage here? You're the son of a King! I knew there was something different about you... I should be bowing to you and addressing you as Your Grace."

Theon immediately felt a rush of fear that someone had heard them. "Do not call me Your Grace," he answered automatically.

"Why?" she asked. "You were born a Prince and you will always be one, like you were born a man and will always be one. Just like I was born a woman and will always be one."

"It's more complicated than that," said Theon, almost sadly, standing up straight.

She looked away and shook her head. "Why do I always see you smiling, then, if you know you're a hostage here?"

"It's not so bad," shrugged Theon. "I get three meals a day, wages, my own warm room... I'm not a Stark, but everyone here has been good to me."

She frowned. "You've been here _ten years_?" Theon nodded; she sighed. "You are very brave. It's only been a week away from the sea for me and I already feel like I'm drying out." She looked around. "This place is so beautiful, but I couldn't imagine being here for ten years."

He smirked sadly; he knew the feeling she was talking about. She was perhaps feeling rather trapped, too, for her leg wasn't well. She looked taut, firm; she looked like she was constantly moving all the time and was growing restless. He knew the feeling of wanting to run and jump but you couldn't. He wouldn't talk about it, though, for the subject seemed to upset her.

"It's especially beautiful now," said Theon, deciding to change the subject. "The long summer is good up here. Winters are murderous. But it wasn't anything that bad. The Starks prepare for winter very well here."

"What's winter like here?"

"I don't think you want to know," said Theon with a grin. "you almost fainted at my past."

"Cadenzsa Forel does not _faint_," she said, now annoyed.

Theon scoffed. "I still don't think you want to know."

"Try me," said Cadenzsa.

Theon sat next to her and leaned his elbows back on the table. "Snow. Lots and lots of snow, and biting winds that feel like thousands of tiny arrows on your face. Snow gets hundreds of feet high in some places, and in some places it's so bad that mothers kill there babies for fear of watching them starve to death. I hear stories from beyond the Wall that up there, when winter is so bad and food is so scarce, they turn to eating their horses. And then each other as each person dies."

Cadenzsa gulped and cringed. "Did you have to do anything like that?"

Theon gave a tiny laugh and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. We were snowed in, mostly, and I went out hunting with Lord Stark and Robb. But game was scarce; no stag, no ducks...we had to fish in the ice sometimes. It wasn't so bad. But the long summer is coming to an end, it seems, and that means an equally long winter. Good thing your leg will be better before that happens, so you can go back home."

The Braavosi lady shrugged with a shy smile. "Oh, who knows if I'm even ever going back home?" she said.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Theon.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped herself. "Oh, what is word...?" she said, gesturing with her hands as she went through the list of all the Commontongue words she knew. "It's like, ah... You know, the riddle..."

"Riddle?"

"Yes, the riddle. You know, if you've got it, you want to share. But if you share, you haven't got it? The word... It's like the riddle."

Theon thought for a moment. "If you've got it you want to share it..."

"But if you share it you haven't got it? It's the riddle. The word is the riddle. Or at least its answer. I can never remember."

A few beats. "A secret?" Theon asked.

"Secret! That's it! It's a secret!" Cadenzsa sighed. "Well, I mean, can you _keep_ a secret?"

Theon smirked. "For my Lady, of course I can."

She sighed. "I'm getting married."

He wasn't exactly sure why, but a thumping pang in his stomach was suddenly apparent. "Oh. To whom?"

Cadenzsa shrugged. "I don't know, yet. I just know that it's the reason we're in Westeros."

"What, to find you a husband?" Theon couldn't help but laugh. "No one will marry you in Braavos?"

She shook her head with a toothy smile. "I don't think that's the problem. I think that the problem is everyone is afraid to. Or my father thinks that nobody is good enough. It's a complicated situation. But my mother insists that if I _must_ marry, it _must_ be to someone with a title and wealth and a warm castle to keep me safe in."

"I see," said Theon, standing and walking to the arrows. "Well, since we are sharing secrets, Cadenzsa, may I offer one?"

"Please do," she said as he drew another arrow.

"I don't think you're the type to marry someone like that." **_Thump_ **went another arrow in the target's heart.

"I don't think so either," said Cadenzsa. "But we live in a strange world where women are treated as such. We are nothing without a husband. The only jobs we can get are whores or barmaids or kitchen wenches."

Theon smiled. "So your father, a Braavosi Dancing Master, best in the city or what-have-you, has decided to marry off his precious girl to some rich lord in Westeros, who probably has a fat belly and a little prick and has nowhere near the sword-arm that you have."

Cadenzsa gave a full laugh. "God, I hope not," she said. "I think my father will find someone he feels worthy of me here. I just hope that he happens to find it near the sea. I can't live without it. I know that now."

"And there's nobody at all in Essos for you to marry? What about Pentos or Volantis?"

She shrugged. "My mother insisted on Westeros." There was a pause before she spoke, which meant she was hiding something. Theon had already given her a few japes and jabs, so he decided not to push the matter further. If she wanted to go along with that kind of plan, it was on her. But she should be so lucky that a woman like that had that kind of option. Though the Westerosi people seemed to be highly nationalistic in many respects, especially when it came to their Lordlings. Poor foreigner would probably be sent back home with her tail between her legs and no husband to speak of. Or maybe she's find some Tourney knight. A knight would maybe be the best she could hope for...but then again, those men were not the type to be thought that they could be challenged by a woman.

Theon loosed a few more arrows as she watched in awe. He didn't mind her company; she seemed to like his. If it were up to him, though, they wouldn't be talking. She'd be laying on the flat of her back in his bed with her gown up around her hips. He'd never seen a woman so exotic and slender and firm as that before. She knew she was beautiful, too, for the way she just happened to be 'adjusting' her gown when he glanced over her shoulder. He could see the curve of her breast peaking over the blue of her gown. When she caught him looking, though, she returned his smirk.

"So when did you learn to do that?"

"What, looking?'

She laughed. "No, shoot an arrow!"

"Oh," Theon laughed. "I don't know. I've just done it since before I can remember. It's not hard to do. Just takes practice."

"You make it look so easy," she said.

"It is easy. You just have to feel it. I'm sure you'd be good at it if you set your mind to it." He wasn't sure if he was inwardly cringing because he meant what he was saying or he wasn't very much liking the thought of a woman being that good at anything.

Cadenzsa shook her head. "I don't know. I've never done it before."

"Truly?" asked Theon, now confused.

"Truly."

"Your father put that sword in your slender little hand but not once a bow and arrow?" She shook her head. "I could find Ser Rodrik for you and he could teach you how. He's our Master-at-Arms here in Winterfell."

"Did he teach you?"

Theon shrugged. "He taught me how to swing a sword, hold a shield..."

"Those things I know how to do. I would rather learn from you."

He grinned. "You want me to teach you?" A wicked plan grew in his mind.

Her face lit up. "If you wouldn't mind," she said a little too flirtatiously.

_You sneaky little foreigner_, thought Theon. "Alright. Come here and I'll show you. Come stand where I'm standing." She limped towards him; her face didn't show any pain, but Theon wondered if she'd be able to stand the right way if her leg was out of service temporarily. "You think you'll be alright?"

"A Water Dancer can stand on one toe for hours at a time."

"But a bowman needs a good balance to shoot arrows," said Theon.

She came and stood where he had been standing. He turned her so that her back was to him. He then noticed how long her hair was - all the way down to the bottoms of her thighs in a very long braid. She mustn't have ever cut her hair since she was a child, he thought. He began to wonder how she could be a warrior-woman with such long hair - wouldn't a clever enemy just pull her hair? Maybe she was the sort of woman that liked that kind of pain?

"Here," he said. "Take my bow." Her hands weren't little delicate things like many Ladies' hands; her hands had scars on them, and were dark like the rest of her skin. Her fingers were long and her nails were very clean. As he leaned closer, he noticed the perfumed oils she must have used in her hair. He quietly inhaled.

"It's a flower called jasmine," she said quietly with a knowing grin as she took his bow in her hand. Luckily she was wearing long sleeves, but Theon put his leather bracer on her wrist anyway to keep her from hurting herself or tearing her pretty gown. Her arms felt like stone underneath the fine silk.

"This is a finger-guard," he said, placing the leather square in her right hand. "Use this to keep your fingers safe. Now draw the bowstring back as far as you can. We'll do it without an arrow first, just to see your form."

She gripped the bowstring and pulled. She gasped a little for she didn't realize just how tight the quiver was, but when she put her back into it she drew the bowstring back decently far. Her arms, though, were shaking, and she couldn't keep her bow arm straight.

"Use the muscles in your back and chest, not your arms," he said, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders. She let out a breath and pulled again, this time all the way back. He felt her muscles trembling underneath his palms. "Good, now keep this arm straight, and keep both eyes open, you'll see twice as well." She laughed, which made the bow shake. "No laughing," he said.

"It's hard," she said.

"You're using muscles you're not used to," he said.

"Must be," said Cadenzsa.

"Now let the string go, but keep the bow up." She did, and the bowstring slapped against the bracer. She gasped a little, but it didn't phase her. "Good. Want to try it with the arrow now that you have a feel for it?"

"Alright," she said, taking an arrow.

"Here, point the bow at the ground to nock the arrow safely. Yes, like that," he said, guiding her hands. "Now hold the arrow's end like this and straighten your arm out in one smooth motion." She did, raising it towards the target. "Good. Now as you take a big breath in, pull and stretch." Her arm trembled a bit as she did so. "Now hold it."

She held the bow and arrow, drawn tight. He lowered her elbow when it was too high, and then gently glided his hands along the lines of her slender waist to her hips. "Move your stance like this," he said, whispering just a little too closely in her ear. He gripped her hips as if he were ready to take her from behind. "Keep your balance square."

"Like this?" she said, flirtatiously brushing her arse against the front of his trousers. Theon grinned, surprised.

"Keep your hips square. It's all about balance at first." He placed his hands on her waist and gently traced with his fingers up to her arms. He felt her skin being hot underneath her clothes; she would be a nice bed-warmer, indeed. He lowered her elbow . "Are you ticklish?" he asked quietly.

"A little," she answered.

He glanced at her form - and what a nice form it was. "Good. Now stay like that."

"For how long?" asked Cadenzsa with a slightly exasperated smile.

"Until I say to let go." He circled around to her front. If her leg was bothering her, she didn't show it, for she seemed to be standing well enough. Her arms were very strong, for it isn't a Lady that can shoot a bow an arrow without at least _some_ strength. It was a bit odd to see a woman be so active and athletic. Theon liked it, mostly because one thing he loved was a good hunt. He saw her arrow-arm quivering a touch. "When you feel your arm start to shake like that, take in a breath and pull tighter."

Cadenzsa nodded and did what he said. He circled her slowly, examining her up and down. Her curves, her muscles...he'd never seen a Lady like that before. Or a woman in general. The best part about it was that she seemed to know he was looking at her, and she seemed to be inviting it in, for the way her exciting brown eyes glanced at him.

"The trick is you have to feel it. You have to feel as if you can't pull any further or it'll snap, and then pull just a bit more. No distractions, all focus. When in battle, there is chaos going on around you. For a shot with accuracy and the force of a hundred punches all at once, you need to find that calm within amongst the chaos. The shot is about tension, and release. Just take your time with it. Most loose it too soon, before they feel it coming. Remember, in that moment, you have all the time you need. All the time in the world. And when that arrow _finally_ flies to the target with that thump, it will feel..." He came in close to adjust her arms from behind. "...so satisfying," he whispered into her ear. "There, now pull more. And breathe."

She was a good student, for she did exactly as she was told. He felt the tension in her body; her arms were just as strong as his. Theon wasn't sure if he liked that or not, but it seemed that his cock liked it for how it was swelling at just the thought of bending her over. He wondered if anyone was watching; he also wondered if she would like it like that. She was different, alright, and Theon liked it.

"Good. You have it. When you release it, keep your bow arm the same, but your arrow arm is the one you bring up to complete the circle, like you're using your elbow as a pivot."

"This is very different from the Water Dance," she said with a smile. He could hear, though, the tension and discomfort in her voice. In truth, Theon liked hearing what she sounded like when she wasn't wearing either anger or courtliness. He wondered what she sounded like when she wasn't wearing words at all.

"You seem the type to like 'different,'" he said with his trademark grin spreading wide across his lips.

"You are right, Theon," said Cadenzsa as she glanced at him through the quiver. "I do."

He came behind her and watched how she was aiming. "Line up. This is good for now, but remember that when you're in battle, you must aim for where your target is going to be, and not where it is. Keep your head straight, lest that bowstring snap your face half-off." He could tell she wanted to laugh, but kept the tension just as well. She pulled harder. He reached behind and tilted her chin up. "Keep it parallel to the ground, so you'll see more level that way." His long fingers traced the curve of her cheek, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. He whispered to her "Have you ever been with a man before?"

**_Thump_ **went Cadenzsa's arrow, just outside the middle target. For a beginner, that was an amazing shot. He looked at her, who was giving him a playful smile. "Have _you_ ever been with a man before?"

He grinned and gave a tiny laugh. She laughed, too, and handed him back his bow. "Thank you, Theon, for the lesson." She hopped a little on her lame leg. "Maybe when I'm not a cripple anymore, I'll teach _you _a few things." She turned slowly and began to walk away. "Until next time, my champion."

When he saw her at dinner that night, Jon was sitting with them, much to Lady Cat's chagrin. She was wearing an island blue gown, the same color of a warm southern bay's tropical waters. The color was beautiful on her, and it made her skin glow like she had swallowed the golden sun. The sleeves hugged her arms down to her elbows before flaring out in great circles like flower petals. He liked the Braavosi dress, and especially with her in it.

Her hair was out of its braid and fell in a mountainous black waterfall of waves and flips and gentle curls, pinned back gently with gold sea turtle pins that had diamonds as shells. She smiled at him when she caught him staring at her, and looked away coyly for - he knew - his entertainment alone. A woman like that isn't coy for the sake of it. A woman like that is coy when she knows she's being watched, and she likes it.

Everyone in Winterfell was under her spell. She was charming and exotic, and she even made all of the Starks laugh, which was a feat in and of itself. The Starks weren't a gloomy bunch, necessarily, but he rarely saw all of them laugh like that. Funny thing was that she seemed to have the younger men all under her spell, especially Robb.

Theon knew the look Robb gave to women when he liked them. Theon knew that Robb was much different from him when it came to chasing them, too, but he didn't know if Robb was going to catch on that Cadenzsa wasn't the type for Courtly Romance. Or perhaps she was, and Theon just didn't notice it yet? He admitted silently to himself that he didn't know the right way to break into her bed and find himself there. He had a feeling, though, that she would show him the way once that leg of hers healed. He knew that for how she gently licked her lips in a small way _just_ when she happened to meet eyes with him. She knew what she was doing, and Theon liked every moment of it.

When the feast was broken, Theon offered to escort her back to her room, which nobody objected to. Cadeznsa circled her arm around his and leaned against him as she walked. When they got to her room, she pivoted on her good foot and leaned against the doorway, giving him an oh-so-mischievous smirk. She glanced down the corridor.

"Is anyone watching?" Theon shook his head with a grin; was she going to invite him in _now_? "Good." She took his face and brought it down to hers with a deep kiss. _She's kissing you_. He thought. _She's kissing you. She's kissing you. She's k__issing you_... She tasted of the feast, hot and drunk. He liked the way her long fingers curled through his hair, and the way her tongue teasingly massaged his. When she pulled away, he felt himself give a tiny whimper. They were both a little breathless. She grinned. "Sleep well," she said, going into her room and closing the door tight behind her, leaving Theon to walk back to his own room, alone, with a throbbing erection.

* * *

R&R! I can't WAIT to write some sexy times. It's going to be DIRRTTYYYY! Also, I'm thinking of doing either Arya or Sansa's POV next. Lemme know in the comments! 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Robb**

* * *

It had been one week to the day that Lady Cadenzsa Forel had been in the care of the Starks. Robb was almost sad to see her leg healing so quickly, for once you got past her fiery demeanor, she was quite fun to talk with. In fact, he took such a liking to her and had such a desire to gain her good favor, that he had asked her if she would like to accompany him for a ride, to which she accepted.

She was a surprisingly good rider for someone who had lived mostly in a place where there were more canals than streets. Her cream-colored gown draped over the horse's body elegantly, and she sat up the right way, too. Her hair was pinned back with pearls, making her hair look like a foamy wave of seawater at night.

"Lady Forel," he said at one point through the ride. "I take it your leg isn't bothering you as much?"

"I have always been a fast healer," she said.

Robb didn't quite know what to say next. There was a silence between them, perhaps a tension. Then she laughed, and when he looked, she was smiling at him.

"Why are you so serious?" she asked. Robb frowned in question. "I mean it," she said. "You're so serious. You have lands to call your own, you are wealthy, you have a handsome face, a lovely family, both your parents are so in love...and yet the world seems to hold no joy for you."

Robb was confused; he wondered if she was half-mad. Perhaps it was only because of the deaths of her men that made her so furious and emotional with him last week. He understood, of course, for if he were in her position, he might have been just as angry. Now that she was calm, he thought, she was quite nice.

"What, nothing to say?"

"Pardon, my Lady," said Robb automatically.

She rolled her eyes. "Why not we start fresh? It seems that me calling you a prat when we first met has put a great dampness on our... our...what is word?"

It was easy for Robb to forget that her Commontongue was still somewhat poor. But a language was a hard thing to learn, and the fact that she knew such a great amount in such a short time - he learned that she only began to fluently speak the Commontongue a year or two ago - was still impressive. He had absolutely no knowledge of any language other than the Commontongue, so it was hard for him to pass judgement on hers.

"'Relationship?'" Robb suggested.

"'Relationship.' No, it is more the word is...is..." She thought. "Friendly?"

"Friendship!" said Robb with a smile.

"Friendship! That's the one!" Lady Forel laughed. "Yes, it has put dampness on our friendship. So, let us begin anew." She bowed her head. "A warm greeting to you, Lord Robb Stark, I am Cadenzsa Forel, of the Free City of Braavos. How lovely to meet you."

Robb laughed, causing her to laugh, too. "My Lady, I am Robb of House Stark, of Winterfell."

"Just Cadenzsa is fine," she said.

"Cadenzsa?" Robb said. "Well, just Robb is fine, too, then."

"Robb," she said. He liked the way she said his name. The way she rolled her 'r's made it sound more interesting than it actually was. "I like the Westerosi names."

"I would say that I like the Braavosi names, but yours is the first I've known." She gave him a playful look. "But I like yours. It's musical. It suits you." She smiled sweetly. "I like the sound of your voice when you sing."

Cadenzsa laughed. "Thank you," she said. "You know you're not so bad when you're happy."

"I could say the same about you." She laughed so loud that Robb wondered if it echoed so far through the forest they could hear them back in Winterfell. Her eyes were playful, and her lips were full and beautiful. He couldn't help but stare a little at her. To make it less awkward, Robb said "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "My father, of course. Who taught you?"

"Ser Rodrik," answered Robb. "He's our Master-at-Arms."

She squinted her eyes a bit. "Master-at-Arms?" she repeated. "Is that like a Dancing Master for you? I take it he only teaches the Knight's Dance?"

Robb didn't quite understand, but he said "He teaches the sword, shield, bow-and-arrow..."

"If he teaches so many, how can he be so good?" Cadenzsa asked.

"What's that mean?"

"It means that...ah, how to say...? If water spills onto a table, it spreads out low. But fill a vase with the same, and it rises high and can sustain a life." Robb didn't quite understand, and she could see it, so she explained further. "When you do the same thing every day, and concentrate your focus on one thing, you become a Master at it. A man only has so much talent in him, so why not become the greatest talent at one thing, instead of...average talents on many things?"

Robb nodded with a tiny grin. "I think I see what you mean."

"I know not how to hold a shield, and I just recently learned to shoot an arrow, but I am one of the youngest Dancing Masters in all of Braavos. They call me... Well, I'm not sure how it translates in Commontongue, but I think it is "Water Beauty" or something."

Robb smiled. He imagined what she might look like with a crown on her head. "I'd like to see where you come from," he said, realizing that he actually meant it, even though the thought of leaving the North had never before crossed his mind.

"It's a beautiful place," she said. "I miss it sorely." Her gaze became longing, wistful. She looked around at the trees and flowers. She sighed. "May I ask you a question?"

"Please do," said Robb.

"What did you think the moon was before somebody told you what it was?"

He had never thought of it before. He knew that it was a thing that the wolves howled at night to, sang to. Robb had heard once that the moon once had a twin, which was a giant egg that hatched into a thousand dragons when it got too close to the sun. But before he had heard that?

"I guess I don't know. I can't quite remember."

"Oh come on," said Cadenzsa with a smile. "Make a guess. Think of the moon with a fresh set of eyes and tell me."

"Fresh set of eyes..." said Robb to himself. "Maybe..." He thought of the wolves at night. "Maybe it's a God to the Wolves. I hear them singing to it when it hangs high in the skies at night. Maybe it's a beautiful star that's up close which brings the forest alive at night?"

She smiled. "I like that..." she said.

"What did you think it was?"

"Me?" she asked. "Oh, I don't know. Since before I could remember, I've just somehow known it was..." she sighed. "I hear many things about the moon. I sometimes wonder why we find it so interesting. It could be just a big glowing-white rock floating magically in the night sky. But my mother told me that the moon is not a rock, or an egg, or a ghost...but a goddess."

"A goddess?" Robb repeated in question, a tiny giggle in his voice at the thought of it.

"Yes, a goddess. The moon is a goddess, the wife of the sun. It is known. Think about it. The sun warms the earth, grows the crops, provides and gives. The moon is soft and guides our way in dark times, so that we are not afraid to sleep, for we know it watches over us."

Robb felt his heart skip a beat. "You're a very learned woman, Lady Forel-ah, Cadenzsa."

She thought for a moment, as if unsure of how to take the compliment. "Thank you?" she said. "Oh, look! A lake. Let's let our horses drink?"

They guided the horses to the water. Robb got down first and helped Cadenzsa down off her horse. She wasn't light, but wasn't heavy at all. Her body felt firm beneath her gown. They sat together by the water and talked for awhile. They didn't talk about anything in particular, just life and how things were. They talked a lot about their fathers and families. At one point, Cadenzsa took off her shoes and her stockings. She began to remove her gown.

"Lady Forel-!" said Robb, his face flushing red as he looked away quickly. "What are you doing?"

Cadenzsa frowned. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, now stripped down to her smallclothes. Without another word she dove head-first into the water.

"Lady Forel!" said Robb, standing up quickly. He ran to the water's edge. "Lady Forel!"

A shriek came as she broke the water's surface, then a great amount of high-pitched laughing. "Oh the water is freezing! Haha! What a way to wake up!"

Robb stared, mouth agape. She floated in the water, her hair clinging to her throat and face, dripping wet. She swam towards him to where it was shallow enough to stand. She walked towards him and he saw her, walking to him like a golden goddess, water running down her shoulders and her throat, and down her teardrop breasts, her flat belly, and down her firm thighs and shapely bruising on her leg had nearly healed.

"Like to swim?" she said, nodding pointedly to the water. Robb shook his head feverishly, hoping that she wouldn't notice the swelling in his trousers that she had evoked. "Are you sure? It's great exercise." Robb shook his head again with a gulp. She shrugged, Gods be good, and turned away to let him see the beauty of her hair which clung down to her back and over her taut arse. "Alright," she said, "you can just watch me swim." And she dove back into the water.

Robb didn't know how long she swam for, but it was at least an hour before he convinced her to come out of the water. He put his cloak around her shoulders to shield her from the cold and dry her firm body. He wasn't usually the shy type, but he knew he should be respectful to her virtues, and if he saw her in her wet and naked glory, he might not be able to resist.

They rode back to Winterfell and the only solace Robb had was that she would be gone soon to never torment him like that again. But his father and the Gods - both new and old, it seemed - had other plans.

"Cadenzsa!" called Lord Stark as they walked back towards the castle. "We've just received word from your father."

Lady Forel smiled and ran towards him, her leg clearly much better. "What does he say?"

Lord Stark handed her the letter. Robb watched her read it, feeling a tightness in his throat as she did. "He says he is glad to hear you're alright," said his father, "and that he's going to sail up here from King's Landing." Cadenzsa looked up in surprise. "He's asked us to keep you here until he comes to get you."

"Oh." She wasn't sounding happy, it seemed, but she wasn't upset either. Just 'oh', it seemed. "And you're sure I'm not imposing?"

Lord Stark shook his head. "No, no, not at all," he said. "We're happy to have you here. Everybody likes you."

She laughed uncomfortably. "I thank you for your generosity." She gave a curtsy. "Excuse me." And she ran off. Robb swallowed, a feeling of both anxiety and joy washing over him. Lord Stark summoned his eldest son to his side.

"You know you can't fall in love with her," he said. "I know, I know. It's hard. But she'll never be happy up here, and you know it. And it's not right to force a woman to be unhappy so to make yourself happy." He patted Robb on the shoulder. "Someday you'll marry a beautiful girl from the Northern families, who can be Lady Stark. It's what's expected of you, to marry the North."

Robb was a little shocked to hear him say such a thing. Did his father see what Robb refused to see? Lady Forel was so beautiful, and Robb liked her a lot. But perhaps his father was right? Maybe what he was feeling was love? Robb had never been in love before, so he didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. He saw it in his parents. Did his parents see it in him? Did Lady Forel love him back?

"He's right, you know," said Greyjoy over a horn of ale much, much later that night. They were drinking in Robb's room, a thing they sometimes did together. The night was surprisingly warm, so their doublets were off and tunics were open."She'll suffocate here, and she'll end up hating you."

"What do you mean, suffocate?" asked Robb.

Theon rolled his eyes towards Robb over his ale. "She's wild, exciting," said Theon. "She's unexpected. She's everything the North is not. That woman needs sun and salt and sea air to be happy, and if you trap her here with a wedding cloak, I doubt she'll even _feign_ happiness for you. She'll be miserable up here being 'Lady Stark,' because that's not who she is. She isn't your mother."

"I know she isn't my mother!" shouted Robb, who was already a little drunk.

"So why try make her Lady Stark? Cadenzsa isn't the kind of woman you marry. She's the kind of woman that you fuck for a few laughs because you'll never get the chance to fuck something like that again-"

Robb let a hard fist cross Greyjoy's jaw. "You mind your place here, Greyjoy! You're a Ward of the Starks!"

"I follow your father's orders, not yours!" said Theon, now standing chest-to-chest with Robb. "Tell me something, if you're so Hells-bent on fucking something, why not go down to the brothel and get your cock wet? Look, you're already hard!" said his father's Ward, patting the front of his trousers with his strong hands.

Robb's face went red. "A woman's virtue is to be treasured and respected."

Theon gave a great big 'HAH' in Robb's face. "Do you _honestly_ think that woman is a Virgin? Go ahead and strike me for that one, Stark, but it's a serious question. Do you really think she's a virgin? Not _only_ is she gorgeous, but she's living in a Man's world, in a Free City. Do you know what Free City means? Because I do. I've seen these people sail in from all over the world." Theon gestured around, taking a stumble or two back. "The world is much bigger than Westeros. Do you know, in the Summer Isles, those who give pleasure are revered and respected. Even Highborn Ladies of the Summer Isles are expected to spend a few years in the Pleasurehouses so to keep their husbands happy!"

"She isn't from the Summer Isles!"insisted Robb.

Greyjoy stumbled back and fell on the bed, reaching for his ale and drinking. His tunic was open and his chest was showing, as were the thin hairs on it. He was pale, like Robb; he was lean and muscular, too. Robb walked over to the bed and leaned over him.

"I'm warning you, Greyjoy, you'd better stay away from her."

Theon smirked and propped himself up on his elbows, his drunken breath wafting towards Robb's lips. He opened his mouth and grinned his trademark grin. "You know what I think?" he said. "I think you're afraid I'm going to do a better job at it than you would." Theon's hands found his way to cupping Robb's cock, catching his voice in his throat. "I think you're wanting to fuck _so bad_ that you'll fuck anything, but your father's words are too far down your throat that it won't let you. You're so repressed that you won't give into something..." Theon's lips were fuller than Robb usually thought they were; or perhaps he'd never really looked before. "...that's natural. You Northmen think a woman's virtue is everything. But if fucking someone is so bad..." Theon's hand squeezed at the shaft of Robb's cock. "...Why did the Gods make it feel so good?" Robb couldn't help but throb in Theon's hand. "Or is it that you just want _me_ to fuck you instead of her?"

Robb pushed himself away from Theon quickly, as if his hand were a hot iron from the fire. His father's ward laughed heartily, drinking more. Robb felt his heart in his throat and swallowed. He often felt this kind of hot rush after a battle or a hunt, that pounding of adrenaline. Young men often experienced such things. Didn't they?

"Well, Lordling?" asked Theon, standing and sauntering to him, grazing his fingers along his bare neck. "Want me to fuck you?"

Robb quickly brushed his hand away. "I want you to leave," he growled. Theon grinned and tapped Robb on the nose before taking his boots in his hands and leaving. Robb nearly fainted from the blood pumping hard into his cock, over his body. He quickly leaned against his bedpost and grabbed himself, pumping furiously, for the need was so great. He thought of Cadenzsa's rosy-dark nipples which clung to her wet smallclothes. He thought of her on his bed, stretched across, naked. He thought about her firm legs spread wide, and then pounding into her hard.

Robb leaned against the bedpost, his nails scratching against the wood, his body growing hot. He thought about her tan-and-taut arse and her hips, gripping them hard. And when he thought about the hard cock that was thrusting inside her, making her scream, he couldn't help but think of that cock belonging to Theon, for his was far more-skilled than his. And at that thought, Robb couldn't help but spill his seed all over his hand, his trousers, and onto the floor, which left him feeling both satisfied and relieved, and just the tiniest bit confused.


	5. Chapter 5

ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Theon**

* * *

"Lock the door," said Cadenzsa, who was stretched across his bed. She kicked off her shoes and opened the front of her long, pale pink gown. He was happy to see her out of it, too, for he hated that color pink on her. It didn't seem right with her tanned skin. Her smallclothes clung tight to her breasts.

Theon took off his boots and unbuckled his trousers. He slowly removed his doublet and threw it to the floor, keeping his eyes locked with hers. This was the first time since they had met and been alone together that they didn't speak. She silently asked him to come to her with her eyes. Her long fingers tugged at his tunic as she came up to kiss him.

Theon took her face in his hands and ran his fingers through her long hair, feeling his cock swell against her soft body. Her skilled hands slipped beneath his tunic and pulled it over his head. Her hair tickled his chest. Her hand slipped down and gripped his cock, making him whimper unconsciously against her lips. Something about her touch made him go weak, so he pushed her on her back where he knew he could be the one in control.

He smirked as he pushed her hands above her head and held her wrists down. She struggled for a moment, but mostly against herself. Silently, he said to her 'stay on your back and open your legs wide,' which she did.

His long fingers traced down her neck, her collarbone. She sighed, her cheeks flushing red. He kissed down her neck and to the space between her breasts, practically ripping off her smallclothes with his teeth. She moved a little, but mostly stayed where he put her. His tongue traced the curve of her breast, and sucked on her nipple, grazing it with his teeth. Her back arched as she gasped with pleasure, her hands moving to his hair, her nails trailing down his neck and naked back. He could hear the desperation, the pleasure in her voice, and the excitement which came from the fear of getting caught.

His fingers found their way to her cunt, which was already wet and open. He brought himself down, kissing down her body, along her flat belly and down to her hips. His teeth grazed the skin on her thighs as he rolled down her dark stockings with his quick fingers. He kissed all the way down her legs and nibbled at the flesh on her ankle and sucking on her toes before repeating the same thing with her other leg. He almost didn't want to open his eyes, for the sounds she was making were too wonderful to want to spoil with another sense. But when he opened his eyes, he saw her, all open and hairy and wet, slender and strong. He had to have her. Now.

In one swift motion, Cadenzsa came up and wrapped an arm around his waist, throwing him down on his back and climbing on top of him. He was so shocked by her strength that he couldn't help but gasp. She smirked and pulled his trousers down to his knees. He kicked them off as she leaned over him with a deep kiss. Theon's hands gripped at her hips and squeezed hard at the firmness there.

Cadenzsa smirked as her eyes went playfully, sensually dark. He thrust up his hips and entered her so abruptly that she gasped in such a delicious way that he almost came inside her right there. But she was a woman who knew how to control her body, so with that moment of pleasure, she brought up his hands to massage her breasts as her skilled hips rode and thrusted on his cock.

Theon bit his lip to keep from moaning and making too much noise. He'd never felt someone so smooth, so velvety, so incredibly tight. Did she spend so much time exercising that even her cunt had strong muscles? It felt delicious. It felt like mighty waves of cum was building up inside of him. And she was so fucking beautiful it was almost too much.

Cadenzsa then smirked and took one of the rather large candles from his nightstand. "Like to play a rape game?" she asked playfully with a deep voice.

He smiled, but quirked his eyebrow in a very suspicious question. "No?" he said, a little unsure.

She mirrored his raised eyebrow and pursed her lips playfully. "That's the spirit," she said as she poured the hot wax all over his chest; and when she did he screamed in such a pained pleasure he was afraid he'd have woken all of Winterfell. Well, it didn't matter, really. They had all heard him screaming at night when fucking, for he was sure he'd fucked the entire town. But if they heard Cadenzsa... He hoped that they assumed she was asleep in her bed. He hoped that nobody was looking for her.

Theon also hoped that Robb understood.

He took the candle out of Cadenzsa's hand and sat up, bending her to arch her back, pouring the hot drips onto her nipples; he felt her cunt shiver in pleasure around his throbbing cock. As he put the candle back on the night stand, he felt the wax falling and flaking onto their bodies. When Theon flipped her onto her back and spread her wide to grind into her, she didn't object.

Fucking Cadenzsa was like a dance. In truth, everything she did was a dance, from swordplay to eating to, well, dancing. Everything she did was so fluid and graceful, and in combination with his focus and dexterity was a veritable equation for - possibly - the best fuck in recorded known history. It had only just begun, and it was already the best Theon had ever had.

At one point during the night, she turned over and bent to where she was bidding him to take her from behind. Theon couldn't do it; he wanted to, but he simply couldn't. He had been captured that night by her eyes, and could not bear to look upon anything other than her gorgeous face. It started out as a more-than-fantastic fuck, it seemed, but as they moved together, their bodies covered with slick sweat, they were lovemaking.

He couldn't stand her against the wall and fuck her like that. He couldn't pick her up and fuck her grinding against his door. He certainly couldn't take her from behind like a hound takes a bitch. All he could do was slowly caress her cheek, stare into her eyes, feel her body respond to his touch and make mental notes of how she liked it. The best part was that he could feel that she liked it dirty, but the fact he was doing it so sweetly was driving her even more mad. When she came, she couldn't help but scream, and Theon had to quickly cover her mouth with a kiss so deep and passionate, he came with her.

They collapsed on top of each other, breathless. He moved out of her slowly and fell on his back on his bed. Unconsciously, he still had his arm wrapped around her, and when he pulled her close to rest her head in the crook of his neck, she did not object. In fact, she nuzzled close and wrapped her arms around him, her heart beating hard through her chest.

This was the part that was usually awkward. This was the part where he either paid, or left, or had them leave. But Cadenzsa stayed. Cadenzsa stayed, and Theon did not mind it. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, all tangled together, but it was awhile. The way she stroked his hair and ran her fingers through the whiskers on his chin gave Theon a moment of comfort. For the first time in ten years, he felt like he was home, for home was where she was.

He studied the curves of her face, and all the freckles on her cheeks and arms. He bid her lay flat on her back as he crawled atop her again for a deep kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and he felt a strange comfort he hadn't felt ever before. She smiled at him, serene, studying... He bent down and then nuzzled his face between her legs and tasted of her delicious cunt. Theon knew that she would probably scream, but he was so happy and so deeply pleasured to be down there that he didn't care. She tasted magnificent, and he reached under to stroke his cock as he pleasured her with his tongue so they could come together again.

Theon knew that this was love. He knew that because, after a fuck, he never wanted someone to just stay with him so badly. The moments between them were not magical, but simple. The world in her eyes was one that he could retreat to, and to her he was a Champion. Was she doing this just because he had saved her life? He hoped not, for it seemed that she was slowly saving him from a fate that he didn't know he hated so much.

As Cadenzsa dressed, Theon carefully adjusted her clothes and fixed her hair so that she did not look so disheveled as a woman that had just been fucked raw. He poked his head out of the hallway and made sure that nobody was there before he sent her on her way. She walked outside, though, first to make up some excuse about her needing some fresh air should anybody see her. Maybe she'd even make up a lie about how Lord Stark's Ward was fucking somebody so loud that it woke her up. Cadenzsa was smart like that, and Theon liked her for it.

He didn't fall asleep right away when she left. Love had given him wings, so he must fly. He wanted to creep into her room and curl up next to her, holding her hand until she fell asleep. He dreamt of holding her hand that night, too, as they stood on a ship that was sailing the sea. Theon had never felt this way about anyone before.

The next morning he was dismissed for the day while Robb was being a little Lordling for Lord Stark. Theon started to go hunting, but instead went into town and bought a fine new bow that had come off one of the trading carts that had come through town. There were arrows, too, that came in a fine holster of boiled leather to match it.

When he was on the road towards Winterfell, he found Cadenzsa sitting in the forest near a stream, soaking her feet in its cold waters. Her stockings were tucked into her shoes which sat by the banks of the river. She was alone, with her sword at one side and a basket of berries and mushrooms on the other side. Theon dismounted his horse and walked towards her; she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled.

"Sorry for not standing, my leg is a little sore, today," she said.

He almost stopped to see how beautiful she looked there at the river. There was water running over her hands and feet, and her gown scrunched up above her knees. He loved her so dearly, but he did not know how to say it. So instead, he said "I have a gift for you."

Cadenzsa gave a toothy grin. "Really?" she said with a tiny laugh. "Oh, I hope it isn't some frilly jewelry thing..."

"No, no, never," said Theon, walking towards her and pulling out the bow from behind him. "This is something completely practical. I figured that it will be easier for you to practice archery if you have your own bow and arrows. You know, after your father comes to get you and all." The words came out a bit more clumsy than he wanted them to.

She didn't gasp, but her expression changed. As she took the bow and arrows in her hands, he saw a look that he hadn't ever seen on her lovely face before.

"Don't you like it?" Theon asked.

She put the bow down next to her and looked up. "I don't want to go," she said.

Theon frowned.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's now why you think. I hate it here, in truth. I can feel myself dying on the inside just being in such a place as Winterfell. And it's not that I want to stay because of you...it's that the thought of you being trapped alone in this place for the rest of your days makes me sick."

Theon smiled and squeezed her hand. "Don't you worry about me," he said. "I was fine before you came and I'll be fine once you leave. Who knows? Maybe a miracle will happen and they'll get so sick of me that they'll send me home." She seemed a little hurt for a moment at this, but then understood. Poor foreign girl, learning a tricky new language in such a confusing time in her life...

"When _can_ you go home?" she asked.

This was not the first time Theon had wondered when he could go back to the Iron Islands...he always assumed that he would return when his father died, so there would be no threat to the King when he took over Lordship of the Iron Islands. But, on some hard nights, when Theon was very sad, he wondered if he would ever go home again. In truth, nobody had ever told him if and when he _could_ go home. But at his nineteen years, he had faith that his blood was still salt and iron, and he would go home someday on a ship, with white sails shining. Cadenzsa was watching, though, so he answered honestly:

"I don't know. Most-likely when my father dies. I'll be the Lord when that happens."

"What about your mother?"

Theon shrugged. "Well it doesn't matter if she's alive or not, I'll be Lord either way. If she's alive, then I'll see her."

She seemed distressed at this, for her fingers intertwined with his and she sighed sadly. "You'll never see him again, then," she said.

Theon hadn't thought of that. The Ironborn were not necessarily sentimental people, nor were they people that openly expressed great deals of affection. They were warriors of the sea. They were hard men. Hard men did not weep and wail to be held by their fathers.

"No, I suppose not. But not much can be done about it," he said with a smile, trying to goad her into doing the same. "So there's no use worrying." He took her chin and wiped her eyes with gloved fingers. He leaned in and kissed her. She tasted salty, like the sea. When they parted, she wiped her eyes.

"I heard that you spend many of your days at the pleasurehouse before I came." Theon didn't know what to say; was Cadenzsa a jealous woman? "I can't believe you would do that to me. Do you know I could catch some cunt-disease from them?"

Theon then laughed and shook his head. "My cock is too important for me to loose with a cunt-disease. I used to fuck a lot of them, but I've only fucked one of them in years. Here and there I'll fuck a servant girl. They're sometimes virgins."

"Only one?" laughed Cadenzsa. "Who is she, your favorite whore?"

"Are you jealous?" asked Theon.

She rolled her eyes. "No..." Cadenzsa sighed. "It's more complicated than that."

"Either you're jealous or you're not. Pick one," Theon demanded.

"Fine. I'm not then."

There was a very awkward silence between them. Theon wondered who could have told Cadenzsa that he spent his days at the whorehouse in town. Was it Robb, who was already in love with her? Or was it the bastard, who cared too much for a woman's honor to let it be soiled by Theon Greyjoy, the hostage of Winterfell.

"Who told you?" Theon then asked.

Cadenzsa broke into a tiny smile. "I made it up to see if you would betray yourself. Which you did." She grinned. "Honestly, my lord, I thought you a lot of things but I didn't think naive was one of them."

A beat. An angry frown. "Are you having a go at me? After I bought you a present like that?"

Cadenzsa laughed. "I just wanted to see a part of you that I hadn't before... The part that got angry, or sad, or frustrated." She took his hand. "I'm sorry."

Theon shrugged it off after a moment with a smirk. "You're smarter than I thought."

"...Thank you?"

He gave a sad smile. "Listen," he said, " we can play these games all month long if you like. But you're going to have to be alright with the fact that, when you leave to marry some fat lord with a huge belly and little prick, I'll still be here, probably fucking lots and lots of girls to make up for the fact that it'll probably never be as good as it was with you."

She smiled. "When I ride South with my father," she said, "I will take this matter to the King."

"What matter? My fucking whores?"

Cadenzsa rolled her eyes and laughed. "No, you fool, your freedom!"

Theon groaned and rolled his eyes. "Don't be a fool," he said. "Robert Baratheon was the one who sent me here in the first place. And he's not going to listen to some lovesick, foreign, Dancing Girl."

Many girls might weep at that insult. But Cadenzsa was not many girls.

"I'll learn to speak the Commontongue better, then!" she said, frowning. "I'll lose my accent and learn to speak like a Westerosi Lady. Then the King will have to give me a hearing."

"So what are you going to say to him? 'Oh, please, King Robert,'" japed Theon in a high-pitched voice, "'I briefly met the son of the man who rebelled against you ten years ago and would see him set free!'"

"My father will have him release you into our House. I'll bring you back to Braavos with me until your father dies! Then you can be away from this place, where its warm and the sea is all we have. We can live in my father's Manse. You can teach archery there. _You_ can be a Master-at-Arms!"

"You'll be good enough at archery at that point to start teaching. You're a fast learner, Cadenzsa. And you'll be a good teacher."

"Not as good as you."

"What makes you think that he will?" asked Theon, now rather annoyed.

Cadenzsa smirked. "You don't know how persuasive I can be! I hear that the King has a taste for beautiful young ladies."

Theon laughed. "You'd fuck the fat Stag King for me?"

"Who says I have to fuck him? I just have to get him alone and naked enough to where I can tie him down and whip his fat belly with the blade of a sword til he yields to my every whim." Theon laughed again. "What's he going to say to his guards? A little Braavosi girl tied me down in my bed and slapped my belly til I cried! Arrest her!" Theon laughed; Cadenzsa did, too.

He took both of her hands in his and held them tight; she felt like home.

"I wish you could come with me," whispered Cadenzsa.

"If I run away with you, I can't stay in Westeros. And I have no idea what'd happen to the Iron Islands if I suddenly disappeared. They kept me on condition of my father's good behavior..." A pause. "If we did, we would have to go somewhere far away." Theon wasn't in the mood to play games, really, but it seemed that playing pretend with their futures was making her happy, so he did it. After all, she would only be here for another few weeks before he never would see her again. So why not play along?

"Across the Narrow Sea," she said. "Far away from Westeros. Maybe to Volantis or Lys. I also hear that Pentos is a beautiful city, though I've never been there. Or, like I said, we could live in Braavos together. "

"Your father won't let you keep a fuck-toy in his house, Cadenzsa."

"You're not a fuck-toy!" said Cadenzsa. "You're a man."

"Well, your father won't let you keep a man in his house to pleasure his daughter at night. If anyone finds out what happened between us-"

"-Are the Westerosi so concerned with what happens to a girl's cunt? Are they so concerned that they think only of what they _think_ a girl wants but not what she actually wants? Can a girl not decide for herself whom to love and what to do about it?"

Stupid foreign girl. Sweet foreign girl. But still stupid foreign girl. "It won't work, Cadenzsa. Let's just never speak of this again and keep it a secret. You came here to marry a Westerosi Lord. Nobody will want to marry you unless you're a virgin. So nobody can know about us." At this point, he wasn't trying to be cruel to her; he was trying to save her. Theon wanted to love her, but he knew that he couldn't when he was a hostage here.

Cadenzsa tilted her eyebrows up in sadness. "You wouldn't care about something like that, would you?"

Theon's heart stopped, and in that moment he felt stupid for it never occurring to him that perhaps she wanted to marry him. He was so convinced that she was so different and radical that he had somehow forgotten that she was still a woman...and a woman, no matter what she said, wanted a wedding cloak for her pretty shoulders to be kept warm by. It didn't matter how feisty they were; they always wanted the same thing.

"Cadenzsa, listen-"

She didn't give him the chance to listen. She grabbed the bow and arrows and stormed away into the forest. He wasn't sure why he felt so foolish for the whole thing. Women were silly and irrational creatures, and he so hoped that Cadenzsa was different in that respect. Regardless of that, he was still hurting that he hurt her, for he really did love her. And because of that love, he couldn't let her suffer and wait for him.

Gods only knew when Theon would be free of the North. Theon did not know when he could go home, for nobody had ever told him. When he was a child, he had asked when he could return to the Iron Islands on nights that were full of tears. Those were the nights where Lord Stark found him crying in the stables, and he said to him that he should not cry, for Winterfell was his home now.

So was Winterfell his home forever? Would he live the rest of his days until Lord Stark died in Winterfell? Was the legacy and name of the Greyjoy House to never be carried on by him? Would he _never_ marry and father sons? These thoughts had never bothered Theon before. But, now, that he had somebody that wanted to marry him and he, Gods be good, maybe actually wanted to consider marrying back?

Did Theon want to marry Cadenzsa?

When he was a child, his brothers spoke of how they would someday take Rock Wives. They were to marry Ironborn girls from one of the many families that pledged fealty to their House. Perhaps from House Sunderly, or House Drumm they would find a bride? But Theon's brothers were dead before they could marry girls from Sunderly or Drumm or Saltcliffe or even from House Farwynd. Theon had imagined that he would someday marry, but it would be an arranged one that had been made by his parents. But Theon sometimes had trouble remembering his parents; the one he remembered the most were his brothers and sister.

The day he was taken from Pyke was the subject of many of Theon's nightmares. While Theon hid in his bedroom, crying into his sister's arms, the sounds of the battle raged on. His mother, Alannys, had come running into the room, a terrified expression on her face. Theon remembered her brown hair, normally pulled tight back, but this time it was disheveled.

Theon remembered when the men came in, breaking down their doors. They seized his mother, the Queen, and tore him out of his sister's arms, who was screaming "Leave my brother alone!"

"Not my boy! Leave me my boy!" screamed and sobbed his mother desperately as the soldiers took him away. Theon remembered it all. It was the last real thing that he remembered about Pyke before they took him.

Cadenzsa had said she was afraid of being trapped here. Cadenzsa didn't know what fear meant. She had never been stood in front of her broken family and taken away to a far away place as a hostage. Cadenzsa had never been used as a tool against her family, or taken as the price for anything. Cadenzsa was a free woman, and she deserved to be happy, so to want her there with him would be selfish. He wouldn't let her die there with him.

Later that night, at the feast, Cadenzsa barely looked at him. She was amiable enough, but she still kept her eyes away from his. Jon was there, too, and she didn't know if she was being nice to him to be cruel to Theon or not. But Cadenzsa seemed like she was too mature to play such games. He didn't talk to her that night. Or the next night. On the third night, he could bear it no more and had to find her.

He found her in the Godswood at sundown, before the feast. She was sitting at the black pool, looking up through the trees. Her hair was half-up in golden pins with her curls flowing down, and the gown she was wearing was an exquisite island blue with gold trim around the collar and sleeves that belled out at the elbow. He came to her and knelt at her side. There was a silence between them; he opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand and stopped him.

"Please, don't," she said. "I can't stand men that speak in flowers." Perhaps she meant 'flowery'. "Just speak honestly to me. No fancy words, just honest."

Theon took her hands and took in a breath. "I'm sorry I'm such a dumb cunt."

Cadenzsa broke out laughing.

"I don't know how to do this. I know how to talk to women. I know how to get them screaming out of their clothes...and Gods do I know how to make a woman come." Cadenzsa cringed a little, but she didn't say anything for she was waiting on him to finish. "But I don't know how to..._be_ around you. I just know that you're different. And beautiful. And I like you."

"I like you, too," said Cadenzsa with a smile.

"And I don't want to fuck you if we're going to get too attached to each other, especially because you're leaving, soon."

Cadenzsa sighed with a nod and a wistful glance down. "I understand," she said.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You mean, you don't want to hurt me by fucking other girls." Theon frowned. "I know that you spend every other day in the whorehouse nearby. And I think you feel guilty with it, now that you see me." She smiled and looked up to the sky. "I'm sure that whatever husband I end up with will probably be the same. Honor is an absolute for women, but for men?" She laughed. "I don't care that you fuck other girls. I just don't want to be one of them. But if the day comes that you want to fuck nobody else but me, then let me know. Perhaps we can talk my father into finding a way to get your freedom."

A beat. Theon looked up to the Wierwood tree, which was dripping with red sap. In that silence, he almost heard the Old Gods say to him "_she is your freedom__.' _But he did nothing about it, for he convinced himself that it was only his imagination.

"Cadenzsa," he said. "I care deeply for you."

She nodded with a squeeze of his hand. "I care deeply for you as well."

Theon stood. "The feast is starting soon. I should go. Will you come with me?"

Cadenzsa shook her head. "Not yet. I have never felt a place as holy as this one. As still... I'd like to stay for awhile. I might try praying. Perhaps I will even pray for a husband with a heart as great as yours."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Jon**

* * *

Jon and Robb were not _fully_ brothers, but they developed a friendly rivalry and love between the two of them over the years, despite Robb's mother. Jon could be himself around Robb, especially when Greyjoy wasn't around. Jon didn't necessarily _like_ Greyjoy, but he didn't dislike him. Jon only disliked the things Greyjoy did, if he thought about it.

Greyjoy japed and whored, walked around Winterfell like he owned the place, even when he _was_ being his father's Ward. Greyjoy was a good Ward, for he always did his job and he did it well. Greyjoy was a man to be, in some ways, admired, for he and Jon had been under similar circumstances in the Stark household.

When Jon was very small, Greyjoy had come to them, clutching a bow twice his size and wearing strange clothes of boiled leather and a cloak that was for a grown man on his back. That night that he had come to them to be a Ward, Greyjoy had come into Jon's room.

_"Why are you crying?" _The Ironborn boy had asked Jon, who didn't speak. "_I'll never see my home again, and I'm not crying! You have a home and father! You don't have a right to cry!_"

Jon remembered that night very well, because it was the night he had made his first friend. For when Jon, who was trembling on the floor of his small room that was in the far back of the castle so nobody would have to see or hear from him, Greyjoy came and sat by him on the floor, and held out his arm to him.

_"Alright, come here, then,_" he had said, and let Jon cry in his arms.

Over the years Greyjoy became a bit of a safe place for him. When he was hurt by the words or looks of Lady Stark - or perhaps another cruel boy in Winterfell from town - he would run to Greyjoy's room to cry in his arms. Though he was snide and smiling, always smiling, at day, at night he would be quiet and let Jon cry there. He would never say anything other than "_Alright, come here, then,_" while it happened. Sometimes Jon feared that he would say something to someone, but he never did.

And so there was an unspoken alliance between the three young men of Winterfell. Was Lady Forel something that strained the relationship between them? It didn't seem so, and Jon hoped that it would not, for he loved both of those men so dearly that he wished for nothing to tear them apart, especially since they had been the only unconditional love he had ever really known in his life.

"Robb!" a tiny whisper came from behind the three of them as they suited up in their practice armor in the yard. Arya, hiding under the table. "Robb!" she said again. "Guess what Cadenzsa did!"

Jon couldn't help but laugh. Greyjoy tightened his boot and whispered to Jon "Looks like she found out, eh, Snow?"

Robb bent at his sister. "What did she do?" he asked, all but willing to amuse her.

"She sewed her stitching to her gown yesterday!" Arya laughed quietly through her hands. "She pulled it up to show Septa, and it was sewn on!"

Robb frowned. "That's not nice to laugh at!"

"But _she_ was laughing!" whined Arya. "Can you believe that her mother _never_ made her do needlework _once_?"

Jon stepped in. "In Braavos they do different things," he said. "Now, you should let us practice. Go before your mother finds you missing."

Robb and Jon started towards the practice area, but Arya grabbed Robb's foot from under the table, causing him to stumble. "Arya!" he admonished. "Are you trying to break my neck?"

"Are you going to marry Cadenzsa, Robb?" she asked. Jon looked up to Robb, whose face went a little pale. Robb then seemed to regain himself and shake his head. "But why not?" pressed Arya. "If you marry her she can stay here forever!"

Robb bent and gave a forced smile. "I think that kind of thing is up to _her_, not me."

"What, she doesn't like you?" Jon had to laugh a little. "Because Mother didn't like Father very much when _they_ first met. But they like each other a lot, now! Maybe Cadenzsa can learn to like you, too?" Jon rolled his eyes with a hidden laugh, and when he turned to look at Greyjoy, he wasn't laughing. In fact, the Ironborn had a bit of a solemn look on his face.

"My Lords," came the Braavosi girl's voice from across the yard. Arya recoiled under the table as Robb stood. Lady Cadenzsa Forel stepped out into the yard wearing black trousers that were as tight and supple-looking as her skin was, with boots of fine black leather that went soft and up to her knees. And her white shirt with the red trim was of the Braavosi style, with great blooming sleeves and tight cuffs, and great blooms around the top with a tight waist, with her long hair in a gorgeous, loose braid that fell down to the tops of her thighs. Under her arm, she had a wooden training sword. Jon, Robb, and Theon all were gulping at the sight - none of them had ever cross a woman's legs like that before. "A warm good morning to you all," she said, putting on a pair of black gloves. "May I join you?"

Robb cleared his throat. "Join us, m'lady?"

"Yes, in training," she said. "Look." And she stretched out her leg, long, in front and swung it around gracefully to the side, and then bent her knee and kicked it high above her head into a sidesplit with her foot pointed. With as tight as those trousers were, Jon was shocked they didn't rip. Jon could practically hear all the things that Greyjoy was saying. "See? Just so! But I mustn't let myself go soft." Jon heard Arya gasp in glee under the table.

"I don't see why not," said Greyjoy coming forward with a grin. "I'll gladly take you on."

"Theon!" said Robb.

"Oh, come on," said Greyjoy, turning around with his hands out. "Aren't you at all curious to see River Dancing for yourself?"

"_Water_ Dancing," corrected Lady Forel with a grin. Robb said nothing.

"Well, I am. And I know _you_ are, Snow," said his father's Ward. "C'mon, Lady Forel, I'll have a go at you."

"Oh, good," she said.

"Let's get some practice armor on you," he said. Jon quickly went over to find the spare practice armor, which was made of wooden dowels and boiled leather.

"What for?"

"So you'll be safe. Wouldn't want you to get hurt," said Greyjoy.

"My father says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better." Arya squealed under the table. Robb stepped forward and Jon stepped back to block Arya both from viewing and from _being_ viewed.

"I must insist on the practice armor, m'lady. We'll all be wearing it. It wouldn't be right."

She gave Robb a long look, and Jon braced himself for her temper, but she simply nodded with a sigh and said "If my lord commands." They were all shocked, of course, but Jon took her practice sword and Greyjoy put the armor over her head and tied it tight around her slim waist. Jon couldn't help but go a little red in the face at the sight of her taut thighs. He was also a little surprised at how heavy her practice sword was. It was much heavier than the ones that they used.

"It's filled with lead," said Lady Forel, motioning to the sword in Jon's hand. She smiled. "It's heavy to make me strong," she said.

"But you only fight with one hand?" Jon asked.

"That's right," said she.

"I would think that it wouldn't matter since your sword looks so skinny and light." She laughed.

"You'd be surprised how much it helps. If you can be quick as a snake with something so heavy, just imagine how quick you can be with something light as a feather."

"There, how's that feel?" Theon asked when he was done adjusting the Lady's practice armor.

"Strange," she said. "We Bravos hardly ever wear armor. At least, not like yours."

"Well, in Westeros, everybody wears it. So you'd better start, too," he said to her.

"In Westeros, a Lady _shouldn't need_ to wear armor," said Jon, a little quietly to his father's Ward.

"A Water Dancer shouldn't _need_ to wear armor, either," said Lady Forel with a grin. She tried walking around a bit with it on, then moving some with it on, too. "The Dothraki don't wear armor like yours, either. They call them _shor tawakol_, 'metal dresses.'" She pivoted on ease with one foot and struck at an imaginary foe with such quickness that her sword made a whistling sound as it flew through the air. "They are the most-feared warriors in Essos."

"Even more-feared than a Water Dancer?" asked Theon with a snarky grin as he sauntered towards her with a practice sword in his hand. Jon and Robb looked at each other in question, as if he was _really_ going to practice with her.

"A Water Dancer, _shekh ma shieraki anni_, is _respected_ and _revered_, not feared. It is known." She assumed a strange sideways pose towards Greyjoy, with her legs open wide and crouched , her head high and arms out like a crow's wings with her left hand holding her sword so delicately that it looked like she was dueling with a knitting needle. Jon had his sword in hand and looked to Robb to see if he still wanted to practice, but he was too confused and too closely watching what she was doing. Jon shrugged to himself, satisfied enough to watch what a Water Dance truly meant. Jon was just glad that Ser Rodkrik was attending to other business that morning and was satisfied enough to let them practice on their own.

Theon laughed a little at her funny stance, but readied his sword. "I'll go easy on you," he said.

Lady Forel pivoted her wrist with her sword in a wheel. "Please do," she cooed.

Greyjoy gripped his practice sword and assumed the stance. He quickly raised his sword to strike, but before they could all blink, Lady Forel hit _three_ strikes as fast as lightning - one at his ribs, then one the backs of his thighs, and then one at his wrist which knocked the sword out of his hand. Greyjoy fell to one knee as she twirled her sword at his chin.

"Dead," she said with a grin. Jon could hear Arya squealing quietly with glee under the table. All was silent, except for Robb's gasping, hacking laughter. He was laughing so hard, in fact, that when Jon looked, he saw his brother completely doubled-over, clutching his sides and eyes clenched shut. Ever prideful, Greyjoy quickly got up and picked up his sword with an angry glare.

This time, he swung from the bottom, but Lady Forel turned around and walked away, parrying each blow quite easily with her back turned. Then with a quick whirl around she struck hard against his sword. And then when he raised his sword and swung down, she dove out of the way and tumbled to his side, where she quickly swung up with her own sword and struck him against the side of his knee.

"Dead, again!"

Theon then swung hard and quick against her, all of which were blocked with ease, and when she advanced in the strange side-ways stance, she twirled her sword like a ribbon doing a dance which so confused Greyjoy that he let his sword be swung out of his hand and went soaring across the yard. With the point of her sword she raised his chin and traced his pale throat.

"_Very_ dead."

"No," said Greyjoy, holding up his hands as if to yield.

"Of course you are, dead man! Now give up."

"No," said Greyjoy, frowning. Lady Forel smacked him on the side of the knees with her sword, bringing it back up.

"Give up."

"No!" insisted Greyjoy, who got another quick smack with her sword on his other leg.

"Give up. You are dead. I have taken many of your limbs and your sword! And your head."

"Well, we are in Westeros. And that's why you have armor to protect you against _this_." Out of either anger or stupidity, he rushed Lady Forel and pushed her sword across his chest. She grabbed his armor and shirt and fell on her back, then tumbled like a Fool where Greyjoy found himself on the flat of his back and she on top with her sword against his throat.

"_Very_ dead." Jon thought that Robb might pass out from laughing so hard, and he couldn't help but applaud her. Arya, who could no longer contain herself, jumped up from under the table and ran to Jon's side.

"Cadenzsa, you're so great!" she shouted. Without missing a beat, Septa Mordane came into the yard.

"Young Lady!" she all but shouted. "I have been looking for you all morning! How dare you make me come searching like that?"

"But Lady Forel is practicing with swords!" Arya whined. Septa came and took her by the ear.

"You are to come back to your lessons at once!" she said, dragging Arya away. Robb and Jon laughed together in both amusement and a bit of pity. Lady Forel let Theon up, who quickly stood with an angry snort.

"Don't be sore!" said Lady Forel to Greyjoy. "First lesson is to never underestimate your opponent!" Robb was still laughing like a maniac.

"Oh you think it's funny, do you?" demanded Greyjoy to Robb as he huffed away from Lady Forel. "_You_ have a go at her, then!"

"And, what, end up looking like you, dirt-face?" cackled Robb. Jon couldn't help but laugh at that one. He then decided, out of either bravery or stupidity - or perhaps it was in that moment he felt that Lady Forel was truly their friend - he came to her and said:

"I'll try, if I may, my Lady."

Lady Forel grinned and bowed. "Please do!" She assumed the Water Dancing stance, holding her sword in her left hand. Jon took in a breath and eyed her up and down before deciding how to proceed. She obviously took her power from her speed, so he would have to either be faster or smarter. But he didn't know how smart she was; but he knew how strong he was and how many blows he could take before yielding.

Jon was the first to strike with a slash to the side, which she quickly blocked and struck at him several times. He blocked two of her four blows, which earned him a few 'ooh's from Robb and Greyjoy who were watching from the stables. He then decided to slow himself and let her strike - which she did - and he blocked each one of them. She danced around him and struck hard and quick, which he blocked and parried, until she advanced in a strange sideways way which took him off-guard, and knocked him on his wrist with her sword to cause him to drop it.

"Dead," she said. "But you are amazing."

Jon smiled. "Nothing compared to you, my Lady." She smiled.

"Here, stand side-face." Jon frowned a little in confusion, but he did as he was bid to do. She looked him up and down. "You are slender man. That is good! Now stay side-face like that, and turn your head to me. Now put the sword only in your strong hand." Jon favored his right, so he put his sword in the right hand. "Now, a more delicate grip," she said as she came and took his fingers on the hilt of the sword. "Like you are holding the hand of your lover." Jon's face went a little red. Lady Forel opened her mouth to say something else, but she stopped whens he saw something over Jon's shoulder. He looked behind him and saw her two handmaidens coming towards her, holding something behind their backs.

Lady Forel's handmaidens were lovely things. The fair-haired one was quite lovely in that pink gown she was wearing, and had on a black shawl over her arms so she didn't freeze. Darry, was it? No, the fair-haired one was from Lys, so that was Darry... And the pretty dark one was Qahari. Jon couldn't remember for sure, though, but he didn't want to ask again for he feared being impolite. The two of them came out in the yard, holding back smiles and giggles. The dark-haired one then pulled out a tiny orange tart with a pretty brown crust,stuck in the middle with a tiny candle in it, and the fair-haired one lit the candle with a flint. They then began to sing a silly little song in - what Jon assumed - was Braavosi, at which Lady Forel laughed generously. Robb and Theon both came a little closer to see what was going on.

"A t'ousand a'blessingks on you, mi'Lady," said Qahari with a very thick Braavosi accent.

"Oh, thank you, my loves," she said, and then blew out the candle. Lady Forel wrapped her arms around her. The fair-haired one clapped her hands gleefully.

"Happy Name-day, my Lady," she said with her sweet Lyseni voice, and she wrapped her arms around Lady Forel in an embrace.

Jon's voice got caught in his throat. "Today is your Name-day?" Lady Forel shrugged. Robb and Theon looked at each other in question.

"Why didn't you say anything, Lady Forel?" asked Robb.

"I didn't want to make a big fuss," she said with a shy smile. "It's really not a big deal."

"That won't do," said Robb, crossing his arms. "We'll throw a feast!"

"No, please - " said Lady Forel, waving her hands. "That's really not necessary."

"How old are you today, m'lady?" asked Greyjoy with a grin.

She sighed with a grin. "I am nineteen today."

"Nineteen, same as me," said Greyjoy.

"Oh, that's nice," she said.

"My Lady is youngest Dancing Master in Braavos, and today we bake her favorite orange tart." said Darry. "Second-youngest Dancing Master is twenty-two." The fair-haired one batted her eyes at Jon. "You are first Knight Dancer to last so long against her, my Lord." Jon laughed and went a little red.

"Jon is _very_ skilled," said Lady Forel. "Were you to come to Braavos, I think you would make a good Dancing Master someday."

"Thank you, m'lady," said Jon with a grin. "Coming from you that's a great compliment." Oddly, Theon was being too polite to say a joke, but with the way he grinned and rolled his eyes, Jon could hear it in his head anyway.

Lady Forel took the little tart in her hands. "Come, let's sit and share it," she said. They used her dagger to cut it into six slices, and they were small, but very sweet and light and with a crust so crisp it could have given the air of a winter morning a run for its money.

"Myrish oranges?" Greyjoy asked.

"My Lady's favorite," said Darry.

"It's delicious," said Robb, licking his fingers.

Maester Luwin came up just then, causing the foreign handmaidens to gasp a little in shock, then bow deeply. "What's all this? You're supposed to be training. If Ser Rodrik finds out-"

"We were," said Robb, stepping forward. "Lady Forel was showing us how to Water Dance. But it's her Name-Day today, you see-"

"Name-day?" asked the Maester, looking at Lady Forel with a grin. "Gods be good, child, why didn't you say anything? We shall have to throw you a party tonight-"

"Oh, please, don't trouble yourselves-you've already done so much for me, all of you. I couldn't possibly begin to repay you."

"Think nothing of it, my dear. What with opening the Northern eyes up to a whole new culture, it seems that we are in _your_ debt. No, no, say nothing more. We'll do something for you. I won't take no for an answer. And I'm sure that Lord Stark will say the same. Which reminds me-Jon, Theon, Lord Stark wishes to see you both."

Greyjoy was a little confused-looking, but he quickly removed his practice armor, nodded and bowed to Lady Forel. "Excuse us," he said. Jon nodded and bowed a little.

"Yes, excuse us," he said. When he looked up, Darry was twirling a golden curl around her finger with a shy smile. Jon clumsily threw off his practice armor and ran after Greyjoy and the Maester.

"May I ask what all this is about?" said Theon as they walked inside, the castle's warmth falling on their skin.

"You just did, Theon," said the Maester, a little annoyed already. Jon inwardly smiled; it wasn't a very nice thing, but Jon had to admit that he liked it when other people got treated the same way he was sometimes...then he didn't feel so alone.

Lord Stark was sitting in the Godswood, sharpening his sword. He stood when the three of them came.

"Thank you, Maester."

"Will that be all, my Lord?"

"Yes, of course, go along back to Bran."

The Maester bowed and left the Godswood. Greyjoy stood straight and kept his hands behind his back, awaiting orders. He played the part of the Ward well, even though Jon knew that it didn't come naturally to him. Jon knew the Ironborn in him was a Conquerer and not a follower. Jon was the follower; for Greyjoy himself Jon did have a certain affection, but it was best to not let anybody know that.

"Jon, Theon, I need to ask something of you both," said Lord Stark. "I know that you both have noticed Lady Forel and Robb growing very close. And as unfortunate as this is to say, we all know that it cannot be. Robb is obligated to wed a Northern Lady, and Lady Forel is..." He trailed off. "Well, her father has made it clear that he has other plans for her."

"Lord Stark," said Jon, "If Robb likes her, then we should want him to be happy."

"Aye, Jon, that's true. And Lady Forel is very nice. But she's not going to be happy here in the North. We live here because nobody else can, and I don't think it would be very nice of us to keep her here against her will, do you?" Jon glanced to Theon, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Her father will arrive here in ten days," continued Lord Stark. "Jon, I want you to keep Robb occupied until then. And Theon, I want you to keep Lady Forel company."

"Lord Stark," said Jon, immediately nervous at the thought of leaving Lady Forel in the clutches of Greyjoy, the biggest philanderer he knew, "can't there be another way? If they do fall in love, then they fall in love. There will be nothing that can be done about it."

Lord Stark gave his bastard son a long look. He sighed through his nose and then patted him on the shoulder. "You love your brother," he said. "And you want him to be happy. But I promise you that we'll find someone perfect for him when the time is right. This is the way it must be, to soften the blow for him when she leaves." He looked to Greyjoy. "I'll survive without you for ten days. Keep her company."

"It's her nineteenth Name-day today, m'lord," said Greyjoy. "Might I take her into town for a drink? In the interest of keeping her away from Winterfell?"

"_Today_ is her Name-day?" asked Lord Stark.

"She didn't say anything because she said she didn't want to make a big fuss about it," continued Greyjoy.

Lord Stark thought for a moment, then nodded. "Take her into town with you today, Greyjoy, and buy her something nice. When you come back we'll have a feast and dancing. Won't be anything big, though. We'll start the separation tomorrow."

"Lord Stark," Jon said, stepping forward. "What is so bad about Lady Forel and Robb being together? I know that they like each other. I see it."

Lord Stark gave a stern look. "The Starks are the Wardens of the North. Our brides should be of the North, too, for many families seek to join their Houses with ours. If we wed Robb to a foreigner, there are many families who might turn our backs on us for it. I know it's not a pretty truth, Jon, but we must forge many alliances with the families of the North, and in Westeros."

"But she's beautiful!" insisted Jon. "And talented! And I know that Robb likes her!"

"Listen to your father, Snow," commanded Greyjoy. "It's his decision."

"But it's not fair, Lord Stark."

"Jon," said Lord Stark, now gently. "Lady Forel will get by just fine without Robb. She has many prospects for marriage here in Westeros, and it wouldn't be right to hog her to ourselves, now would it?" Jon conceded, shaking his head. "I know you mean well. But this is for the best. If it makes you feel better, when her father gets here, we'll talk about it again, eh?" Jon looked down, nodding. Greyjoy nodded as well.

"I'll be off, then, m'lord," said his father's Ward. "C'mon, Snow."

Jon followed behind Theon, his footsteps heavy with anger.

"But it's really not fair!" he whispered angrily to Theon. "It's because she's not Westerosi, isn't it?"

Theon sighed. "I'll bet you anything that Lady Stark has something to do with it."

"Don't you dare-"

"I know, I know, don't speak ill of Lady Stark..." Greyjoy sighed. "But I know that's it. Lady Stark doesn't see her fit for Robb. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't leave it alone, Snow. Robb and Cadenzsa are a bad idea together. They're too different. They come from different worlds. Do you really see her as Lady Stark? Lady of the North? Can you imagine her in plain grey gowns with her hair braided up like Sansa's? Well, can you?" Jon paused. "Because I can't. Now leave it alone."

Jon and Robb stayed and practiced archery with Bran as Greyjoy rode off with Lady Forel. When Bran chased Arya for hitting an arrow on the target behind his, Robb and Jon had some time alone to talk.

"Lady Forel's father will be here soon," Robb said. He gave a wistful grin. "I'm going to miss her."

Jon gulped, not knowing what to say. He wanted to do as his father had asked, but he loved Robb very much, and wanted him to be happy. "Perhaps she'll keep in touch with ravens, now that she knows how to use them?" Jon suggested.

Robb nodded. "Maybe, but I don't think so," he said. "I hate to admit it...but Greyjoy's right. This is a fun little holiday for her, but when winter comes, she'll not like it at all."

"Maybe she's stronger than you think," said Jon.

Robb punched his brother playfully in the arm. "You want her to stay that bad, do you? Why don't _you_ ask her to, then?"

"I'm not doing that!" gasped Jon, going bright red. Robb laughed. "It's just that..." Jon sighed. "She's different."

"I know she's different. But this is the North. We're a land steeped in tradition. I think she might be a little too..._un_traditional." Robb sighed; Jon knew that those were their fathers words, or his mother's words, not Robb's. Jon then saw something in Robb's eyes that he had very rarely seen. It was the look if internal questioning, the wondering of something very deep and profound. He then turned to his brother and asked something he did not expect. "What do you think of Theon? Do you think that he'll..."

Jon went a little red thinking about it, but he knew what his brother was asking. "Lady Forel won't fall to his charms so easy. Besides, she's a Highborn. She wouldn't with a Ward."

"But...Theon's a Highborn, too. Just like us. Have you ever thought of that? Even though his father's been defeated by our father and the King, he's still a Highborn. He's still our equal." Robb's eyes drifted off towards the west. "Under different circumstances..."

"What's this about?"

Robb's face went a little red and flushed. "Nothing. Never mind. Come on, let's get ready for the feast. Sundown is nearly here. Theon and Lady Forel should be back soon. And you should escort Darry to the feast tonight."

"What?" Jon asked in shock.

"You should! Lady Forel said that she's fond of you. Even if it's just to be polite, you should do it."

When Jon was ready and had washed up a little, he came out of his room and he found Darry walking by. She was wearing a pale blue gown, which was very pretty with her big brown eyes. It was of the Essos style with straps instead of sleeves, and armbands of gold. Around her shoulders she wore a shawl of fur.

"My Lord," she bowed low.

"It's just Jon," he said shyly.

"Jon," she said, smiling. "May we walk to my Lady's feast together?"

He didn't want to refuse her, and she wasn't a highborn, so Jon figured it would be alright. She circled her arm around his.

"Jon is strong," she said with a big grin. "Your arm is so hard." Jon smiled. He liked her sloped nose; it was refined and elegant. "You fared well against my Lady today."

"Thank you," he said. Since she was their guest there in Winterfell, Jon decided to make small talk. "Your teeth are very straight."_ Very_ small talk.

"Thank you," said Darry. "They're real, you know." Jon didn't know that you could have fake teeth, but then again there were admittedly many things that Jon did not know. "Do you think my Lady will be surprised?"

Jon shrugged. "I hope it's pleasantly so."

"So do I. She loves surprises. What do you think Lord Greyjoy and she did in town? You know him better than I. Is he a good man?"

It was a bit of a loaded question, admittedly. Was Theon Greyjoy a good man? He was perverse, sometimes cruel, arrogant...but he was a capable warrior and there was no man better with a bow and arrow than he. And he was loyal to Robb and had been - in the dark, at least - a good friend to Jon.

"Why do you ask?" was a safer thing for Jon to say.

"My Lady holds a great affection for him, of course."

Jon's stomach went tight. But his conversation with Robb earlier had made him wonder about Robb's affections toward Lady Forel. Maybe he did not like her at all, and was only assuming that he did? Maybe feelings and love were far more complicated than Jon wanted to ever admit. He decided that since Robb and he were going to be spending a good amount of time together that week, he would ask.

The Great Hall was decked out for a grand feast, and - to his shock - Jon was seated next to Robb that evening. Lady Forel was seated with Greyjoy, and her handmaidens were seated with Arya and Sansa and Bran, along with the other servants on the lesser tables. Sansa swooned at Lady Forel's black-blue gown that looked the color of the night sky, and the gold pins that were in her hair.

When Jon went to glance at Lady Stark, her face was different on this evening. She did not glare at him with hate, but rather that look she gave when she was obligated to do something she did not want to do, but knew that it was for the best. Greyjoy had been right, it seemed, in that it was Lady Stark's idea to keep them apart. Rebellious as ever, though, Robb did not care.

After the feasting, the tables were moved to create a dance floor. Lord and Lady Stark lead the dance. Robb stood and asked Lady Forel for the first dance of the evening as the guest of honor. Lady Forel shrugged and said that she didn't know how, but she would try. Jon wasn't surprised when he saw how quickly she took to it. She was a natural, of course, and her Handmaidens were equally graceful, for Qahari took to dancing with Bran - who had seemed to fallen in love with her - and Greyjoy took to dancing with Darry. When the first dance was over, Greyjoy slyly cut in and switched partners with Robb. When the two of them began dancing together, Jon saw what Darry meant by 'a certain affection.'

Jon began to wonder why Lady Forel would be so wrong. She was a legitimate Highborn from - what seemed like - a good family. So what if she was Braavosi? It was better than being a bastard...and yet she was still discriminated against.

Darry took his hand suddenly. "Dance?" she asked.

Jon smiled, his heart skipping a beat. "Alright," he said.

Darry was surprisingly skilled at the Westerosi dances, and Jon soon found himself laughing and forgetting himself and who he was, and eventually where he was. Darry, to his surprise, even knew the song that they were playing, for she was humming along with it.

"You're good at this," he said to her.

"My father was an instructor of music and dance that worked for the Forels," she said.

"So you and Lady Forel have known each other for awhile?"

"Oh, since we were children," she said. "I lived with my father in the Isle of Flowers - that's the name of the Forel's isle - teaching my Lady's cousins. When she was fourteen I became her Handmaiden and was sent to live in the Sealord's Palace. I was twelve."

"That's a nice story," he said.

"So what about you? I take it all lords learn the dance?"

Jon's throat became a little tight. "Yes," he said, not wanting to press it any further.

"And all Lords learn the sword?"

"Yes," he said.

Darry slowed her dancing with a frown. "I have offended?"

Jon then shook his head feverishly. "No, no, of course not!" he insisted. "It's just..." He then felt Lady Stark's eyes upon him. "Excuse me." He walked out of the hall, that familiar feeling of anxiety gripping at his heart.

"My Lord Jon," called Darry as she rushed out behind him. "I apologize if I have done anything to-"

"No, please," he said, suddenly taking both of her hands. "It's not you, really." He suddenly realized what he was doing and let go of her hands and turned away.

As he took a few steps down the hall and towards the Library, she said "Is it because you're a Bastard?" Jon stopped, his heart tight with shock. He heard her light feet coming up behind him. "Because I don't care." She looked up at him and laced her fingers with his. "I think Lord Jon is brave, and his heart is pure." When Jon turned his head, her pretty brown eyes were welling up. Then it happened.

She took his face in both of her hands and pressed her lips against his with such a shocking amount of quickness to it that Jon didn't have time to react. He stood there, eyes wide open, his fingers tensed and curled in shock. He had never felt a kiss before, nor even really a touch of another woman. His face felt red hot when he felt her tongue flicking on his top lip.

His lips parted and felt her tongue massaging his; shivers went up and down his spine, and out of instinct he gently put his hands on her waist and closed his eyes to kiss her back. For that moment, which seemed to last an hour, he forgot everything about his past and the Wall and the Night's Watch and the North. He forgot his last name was Snow, and that he was in Winterfell. He didn't know where he was, but he didn't really care. In fact, he didn't even realize where he was until he felt himself growing against her soft body, which did not take long. A shiver went down his spine as he parted with an unconscious whimper. He stood there looking at her, wide-eyed as a newborn doe.

"I wanted to you to be kissed by someone who does not nor will never care you are a bastard," she said. "And I want you to know that nobody in Lys would know what the last name 'Snow' meant at all."

Jon didn't know what to say; his voice had been taken away from him with her lips and tongue. She was so pretty, and the most-shocking thing about her was that he actually believed her when she said that she didn't care he was a bastard. But what could he do about it? Nothing. Did he care at the moment? No.

Darry gulped unconsciously, twiddling her fingers. "Well," she said. "I'm going back in before my Lady sees me missing."Jon nodded wordlessly. "I'll see you." And she rushed back into the hall. Jon fell back against the cold wall of Winterfell, and as it dawned upon him what had just happened, he began to laugh with glee, his face burning red with happiness.

"Jon?"

He quickly stopped and stood up straight when he heard Lady Forel's voice call his name. She was standing in the doorway to the hall, with a slow grin growing on her face. There was a moment between them; it was a moment where he was trying to keep a straight face, for he had truthfully no idea as to how she would react to one of her handmaidens cavorting with the Bastard. But she slowly grinned and gave a tiny laugh. She then shook her head and held out her hand.

"Come on," she said, "I would have the next dance with you."

Jon wished that Robb _would_ marry Cadenzsa in that moment, for were she his good-sister, he would be far less lonely. And what a good sister she was to him.

* * *

Ahhh, what an emotional chapter!

I love Jon because his psychology is so fascinating to me. I know that Lady Stark is a fantastically complex and wonderful character, but the way she treats Jon is kind of inexcusable. I know she WANTS to forget that Ned cheated on her so many years ago, but Jon is a living, breathing reminder of it, walking around. So I think that Jon's psychology would really reflect that.

Anyway, I figured that Jon needed a little love, since there's SO MUCH OF IT going around! Was this chapter a little kitch? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. Because I'm going to weave it in to some other fun stuff! xD

And thanks SOOOO MUCH for all of your love and support. It really means a lot to me that you guys are reading. The Grey Lady will be updated soon, too, I promise!

Hugz n' kisses!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

Warning: LEMON in this chapter! xD

* * *

**Robb**

* * *

Robb knew exactly why he and Jon were being so close lately. It was his mother, of course, and not his father that was the one who was truly behind it. He loved his mother dearly, but she was too bound by duty to understand. Robb wasn't sure if she had ever felt passion before. Perhaps his father and she felt passion for each other, but the love between them seemed too...pure. What Robb was feeling was anything but pure. Gods be good, it was downright wrong.

Just the thought of it... Everything about it felt wrong, and strange, and new. He had heard of passion such as this, and had thought he'd felt it before, but now that he was feeling what _real_ passion was, it was too overwhelming. Robb could barely sleep or eat without thinking about it. And now she was alone with Greyjoy just about every moment of the day. But half the time he thought about her, he ended up thinking about...

"Robb?"

He looked up from the ducks he was tying to his horse. Jon was holding a pair of rabbits by the ears. They were too small by themselves, but they'd do well in a stew. His brother's eyes were tilted up with concern.

"Is it Cadenzsa?"

Robb couldn't say it. He looked away at the ducks. Three ducks, four rabbits, and a pheasant bird. Today's hunt had been rather successful, despite not having Greyjoy's arrows with them. It was starting to get late in the day so it was probably a good idea to go back home. As for Jon's question...

He wanted it to be Cadenzsa, but as the day of her departure grew nearer, he became more and more confused and began to wonder if it _was_ her, and not her new companion.

Robb and Theon...he had thought of him as a brother, now and always. Theon was a reflection of Robb, a mirror image - him, only backwards. Where Robb was calculated, Theon was impulsive. But where Robb was rebellious, Theon did as he was told. Robb sort of admired Theon in many ways, for he was one to always speak his mind, even if it might not have been pretty. He wasn't a Stark, but he fit in, as that wildcard piece that you might not have expected to have been there, but somehow worked.

Theon Greyjoy.

Theon Greyjoy.

The more Robb thought about, his name was like a knife.

Theon Greyjoy.

It was like a hot knife, twisting right in a deep part of his belly he didn't know he could feel things in. It was tight, there in his belly and there in his chest. It was hard, too, and made him feel a great lump in his throat. It wasn't that he _was_ feeling it, it was more that he was afraid to admit that he was. He didn't know what it meant that he was feeling this way. He didn't know if it was right, or natural, or unnatural...nobody had ever talked about it to him.

"Do you think...?" he started to say, his tongue feeling dry. "Greyjoy..."

"Listen, Cadenzsa can take care of herself," said Jon, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"It's not Cadenzsa," said Robb in a whispered laugh. He looked down at his feet, tightening the grip on his reins. He looked to his brother, whom he hoped he could trust. "Jon, listen... You're my brother."

"I know," said Jon with a suspicious frown.

"So...I can tell you anything, can't I?"

"Of course you can," he said.

"Well," he began, taking great pause. He didn't know how to really say it, or necessarily say _anything_ about it, for he wasn't sure exactly what it was. So he asked "What do you think of Theon?"

Jon looked confused. "I don't know," he said after a moment.

"No, really, what do you think of Theon? Honestly?" Robb pressed.

Jon shrugged, uncomfortable. "He's alright. Crass. But he's alright."

Robb sighed. "Let's go back home." He mounted his horse before Jon had a chance to object. When they returned to Winterfell with their kills, it was just in time to feast that night. Robb and Jon sat together again, without the angry looks of his mother at his half-brother's direction. It was a welcome surprise, and a welcome comfort to see Jon there, even if it would only last until Cadenzsa left.

She and Theon were seated together, talking pleasantly. Arya, of course, was asking her a million questions about Braavos, to which Cadenzsa was more than happy to answer. Cadenzsa seemed to like being in Winterfell, despite everyone telling Robb otherwise. When she and Theon had gone into town the other day, in fact, she came back with gifts for everyone, including him. Robb's and Jon's gifts were something simple - matching leather coin purses that was (honestly) a little too flashy for him, but he still appreciated it anyway. For Arya she bought a pretty pin for her hair, saying that someday she might like wearing those things. Sansa got a bolt of pale yellow silk which had a painted edge of red roses - a gift which Sansa nearly fainted at with excitement, and Bran got a little hunting knife, which was small enough to fit in his boot. She had bought Rickon a carved wooden horse, which he loved so much that he even tried playing with it at the dinner table.

She had fit in well, oddly, to the Stark House. She had fit in well, oddly, with Winterfell. Robb almost felt as if she were part of the family, for the girls simply adored her as an elder sister, and even his mother was beginning to warm up to her. Maybe if things were to change over the next week, he could perhaps get a moment alone with her father when he came. Surely Syrio Forel would be glad to stay in Winterfell for a night or two in order to rest up from the road, wouldn't he? And they would feast and have a hunt or two together before their departure.

Robb was curious to meet her father, the man who had created such a daughter as Cadenzsa. He also wanted to see if he was the one where Cadenzsa had gotten such curly hair. If Robb and Cadenzsa were to have children, their hair would be impossibly wild, and probably black, like hers. Their skin might be dark like hers, too, but he wasn't sure. It might look nice if they had her black hair and his blue eyes.

When the feast was over, Robb saw Theon go with Cadenzsa to escort her to her bedroom. She smiled when her arm circled his, and Theon seemed to walk taller than usual - if that was even possible - with Lady Forel on his arm.

Theon always had a walked with more importance than he had, even when he was a child and had first been brought to Winterfell. Robb knew that he was a hostage when he first came, and as he sought out the Ironborn boy for sheer curiosity's sake, he learned that an Ironborn's pride was something unprecedented. 'One Iron Warrior is worth a hundred Greenlanders,' the Greyjoy boy had said. Now that they were grown, almost men, Robb believed him, for Theon was easily one-in-a-hundred, perhaps even one-in-a-thousand. Or one-in-a-million. Robb sometimes wondered if the Iron Islands were just copies of Theon walking around.

Hours passed and Robb couldn't sleep. It was now past midnight, and he hadn't even undressed after the hard day he'd had. So many new feelings were happening to him in such a short amount of time; Robb didn't know what to do. It was hard enough being the Firstborn son of Winterfell, and hard enough being a boy-turning-man. Cadenzsa had been a force of nature which turned him upside-down. Or perhaps he had always had these feelings within him, and she was the key to the floodgates that had unleashed it.

Robb knocked on Theon's door gently while poking his head in. Theon was sprawled across his bed, atop the furs, his forearm draped over his eyes. He lifted his arm and opened one tired eye. That familiar grin spread on his face.

"Need something?" he asked, nodding pointedly to the pitcher of wine in his room.

Robb shook his head and closed the door behind him, quietly latching it. He removed his gloves and cloak and draped it over the chair by the door. Theon propped himself up on his elbows, the leathers of his doublet open for comfort. Robb quietly approached, his mouth dry; he met Theon's eyes, and he noticed how blue they were. Very, very blue. Or was it a light gray, like the color of a sea's sky after a storm?

"Are you just now laying down?" he asked.

Theon nodded. Robb wasn't sure what to say next. He stood there, wringing his hands quietly behind his back.

"Missed you hunting today," he said, his voice even.

Theon shrugged and let himself flop backwards on his bed. "I was Dancing with Cadenzsa," he said.

"Is that why you're so tired?" asked Robb with a tiny laugh. Theon shook his head. "Why, then?" He came and sat on the bed next to him.

"I was up late last night, guarding her door." It was said flatly, evenly, without a hint of malice or snark. "And tonight."

Robb gave a sad smirk. "From me, I suppose?"

Theon sighed. "Don't know why," he said. He then grinned. "She's more-likely to get in a lot more trouble with me than with you." Robb couldn't help but laugh at that one. Theon then shrugged. "But you shouldn't worry about her. She can take care of herself."

Robb frowned. It was unlike Theon to say such a thing; when it came to women, Theon loved them, but he rarely respected them enough to say a compliment like that. Anxiety was gripping Robb's heart at even the slightest notion of Theon and Cadenzsa...

Maybe Theon was right? Cadenzsa held a much greater affection for him than for Robb. Was he jealous? Of his brother?

Well, Theon _wasn't_ his brother, was the thing; at least, not by blood. Theon sat up and poured them both some wine. They drank.

Theon was Robb's shield-brother, sword-brother... Theon was Robb's adviser and confidant. Theon was Robb's friend. And, at times, Theon was Robb's safe place. Robb felt safe with Theon enough to bare his soul and share the darkest of his secrets. Robb felt safe with Theon. _Safe_.

Did that mean that without Theon he wouldn't feel that way? Would Theon ever leave?

Robb didn't know to ask if Theon would ever leave the Starks. The arrangement with these sort of things were usually as such: the yielding Lord gives up a beloved family member to the winning Lord as a hostage for good behavior, and when the yielding Lord dies, the hostage is allowed to go home. Balon Greyjoy was probably getting on in years, and Gods only knew when Theon might return home.

Robb wondered when that day would come, would they still keep in touch? When Robb was a child and feeling lonely, he would sometimes crawl into Theon's room and sleep in the older boy's bed. He had outgrown it, of course, but the fact that he was only a few doors down the hall from him was quite comforting. That comfort would someday be gone. They were both men, you see, and men cannot find comfort in each other's arms. Could they?

Well, perhaps they could. There was no real _law_ against it, was there? A man could find comfort with another man if he so chose; a man could love another man if he so chose to. But the thing that Robb understood about love was that it is something you can build, brick by brick, over the years. Love was the thing that grew; passion was the thing that just happened.

Was passion the reason that men would lie with other men?

Why was Robb thinking about this?

He should be thinking of bedding Lady Forel. He should be thinking of her soft pink lips and her bountiful curves. He should be thinking of the water licking at her nipples. He should be thinking of her surely delicious cunt, and a thrusting cock going into it.

"What are you doing?" Theon laughed quietly. When Robb looked down, he noticed that he had placed his hand on Theon's thigh and was fondling the leathers there. Robb could taste the alcohol on Theon's breath.

"Nothing," he said, quickly withdrawing his hand. Theon grinned and patted the bed beside him. Robb slowly, tentatively, laid next to Theon, who gave him a pat on his belly.

"She'll be gone in a week," said Theon. "Her father will be here and take her down to King's Landing." Theon yawned and closed his eyes. "And we'll probably never see her again."

Robb gulped. "What makes you say that? She likes us."

Theon shrugged against his bedsheets. "Well, she'll probably keep in touch with ravens. She'll probably find some Southern Lord to wed her, and stay there. Maybe she'll even end up in Dorne. It would make sense that she would, you know. The Rhoyne people are from Essos, and the Dornish... Well, Cadenzsa would probably fit in there."

"You talk like you know."

Theon shook his head. "Forget it."

"Come on, don't keep secrets."

He shot Robb a look. "It's not _my_ secret to give away." There was a long pause. Robb felt tense; Theon's full lips grew into a smirk. "Want to hear a riddle?"

Robb smiled. "Sure."

"If you've got it, you want to share it. But if you share it, you haven't got it."

Robb's lips continued smiling, but his brow furrowed with an amused frown. "What kind of riddle is that?"

Theon shook his head and looked up to the ceiling. "Bravosi, I reckon."

"Ah, Cadenzsa told you?"

"She's good at riddles," admitted Theon. "She told me another one that took me a long time to figure out. How did it go?" He thought for a moment. "What runs but never walks, has a mouth but never talks?"

Robb laughed. "Ahh... I don't know."

"A river," said Theon. They both laughed, Robb feeling the wine begin to kick in. What with dinner and now this, he'd had a lot of wine that evening.

"That's a good one," said Robb. "So what's the answer to the first riddle?"

"A secret."

"What? Come on, tell me-"

"No, you fool, it's a secret!"

Robb laughed and poked Theon playfully in the ribs. "Come on, I give up-tell me the answer!"

"But the answer is a secret-!" Robb hopped on Theon's torso and wrestled him into a headlock, the two of them laughing. "A secret is the answer!" he said through laughing. When Robb let him out of the lock he was straddling Theon's hips. Robb felt Theon's swollen cock beneath his breeches, making his cheeks flush red. He wasn't really surprised, if he thought about it - Greyjoy was almost-always hard, either from a fresh-fucking or thinking about a fresh fucking. And all men were hard when they were asleep. Theon grinned and rubbed Robb's thigh affectionately, sweetly - it was in a way that was tender, a way that showed their closeness. Perhaps Theon didn't mean it to be anything other than love. That didn't stop Robb, though, from unconsciously letting his own cock swell beneath his trousers. Theon popped an eye open and raised an eyebrow.

"What are _you_ thinking about, Lordling?" he asked as he thrusted his hips up, grinding into Robb's trousers.

Robb gulped, his voice caught in his throat. His cheeks were red with blood. "Cadenzsa," he quickly answered.

Theon gave Robb a long look through half-closed lids, through his dark eyelashes. "I think about her, too."

"She's beautiful," said Robb, his mouth beginning to water as he watched Theon's chest move up and down beneath the leathers.

"I know," said Theon. He closed his eyes, for he was still tired.

"How late did you stay up last night?"

Theon sighed with a shrug. "After midnight, I know. At least not til she fell asleep."

"How did you know when she fell asleep?"

"The music stopped playing." He opened one tired eye with a grin. "She plays music all night and sings Bravosi songs, and songs in the Commontongue. But they're not tales like ours are. In Braavos, they sing songs _to_ each other, not _of_ each other. They're not telling tales of history...they're just telling someone else something. They say it's a way to express love or anger or something."

"That's strange," said Robb.

Theon closed his eyes again. "I know."

Robb could feel Theon's heartbeat in his cock; it was pulsing against him. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what it would feel like if-

"You should tell your father that there's no worries for you and Cadenzsa. I think we both know you wouldn't sneak into her room at night."

Robb shyly looked away, and then shrugged. "You don't know that. I might."

Theon laughed and stretched, his doublet and tunic rising up to expose just a bit of his pale hips, and the head of his hard cock which was tucked up in his trousers. Robb felt a chill up and down his spine when he saw it, and immediately realized that he'd never seen a cock other than his own before.

"You know you would never," said Theon. "You're too honorable to do that." Theon opened his eyes. "'A woman's virtue should be cherished and honored,' remember?"

"You don't know. I might. I can be dangerous like you can."

"You're shaking at the very thought of sneaking into her room," said Theon, giving Robb's thigh a squeeze. Robb didn't realize - _truly_ realize - how strong Theon's fingers were. "When it comes to fucking and women, you can be _nothing_ like me."

"You don't know that," said Robb, whose cheeks and lips were flushing hot pink, both from the cold air in the room and the hot blood within him. "It's not like you and I have fucked." His voice cracked a little when he said what he said, but Theon didn't notice.

Greyjoy laughed. "No, we haven't." With one swift move he came up and - with one strong arm - turned Robb and slammed him onto the flat of his back where Theon had been laying. Theon then quickly thrusted his hips violently against Robb's. "And you have no idea what you're missing, Lordling." It was said as a jape, a laugh, a joke - but with how Robb's fury and fire and wolfblood rose in that moment, he took it as anything but.

Young Lord Stark quickly pushed his father's Ward away, who was now laughing and laying on his side. "Have you even ever _been_ with a man before?" demanded Robb, his voice a little high and squeaky, his lips twitching as he said it.

Theon shrugged and looked away, a thing he did when he didn't want to outright say something, but wasn't about to lie about the truth of it.

"Y-You... You have?"

Theon grinned and shook his head. "Everyone experiments when they're thirsty," he said. "Just because you want wine doesn't mean you won't take water if it's offered." Robb's began to shake on the inside. "It's alright," admitted Greyjoy. "I think I'll always prefer women. But then again, I don't know what the future holds for me. Who knows? Someday I might take to whoring men instead. Maybe with every Knight I slay as Lord of the Iron Islands I'll take them to the back of my ship and fuck them first?"

Robb cringed. Theon laughed.

"Don't look so sick about it, Stark. People do it all the time."

Robb sat up and shifted, realizing he was still throbbing hard.

"What, curious?"

Robb didn't know if Theon had seen how hard he was or not, for he was avoiding the Ironman's eyes. When he found them again, all blue-gray and bemused, he swallowed the dryness in his mouth.

"Go on, I know you're curious." Greyjoy punched him playfully in the arm.

Robb shook his head, not quite believing the words that were coming out of his own mouth. "What's...kissing a man even like?"

His father's Ward gave a hearty laugh. He then fell onto his back and stretched again, Robb getting a peek of the outline of his turgid cock. "You know how kissing a girl is?" Robb nodded. "How she'll be soft, and sometimes fall into you if she really likes you? Or how she'll sometimes take your face and run her fingers in your hair?" Robb nodded, shifting on the bed. "Well...no matter what, even if she tries to fight you, you know she'll always end up begging for you. On her back. Spread wide, if you do it right. If you kiss a woman right, she'll fall weak and trembling into your lap, all open and wet." Robb swallowed hard. "But a man? It's different, especially if they have a beard." Theon's fingernails playfully scratched at the whiskers on Robb's chin.

"Different, how?" asked Robb.

Theon thought for a moment. "Truth be told, it's better than you'd think," he said. "When you're with a man, you know they know what feels good. It's like a fight for dominance. It's more violent, in a way. Kiss a woman the right way and she'll go wet and weak and bend to your will. Kiss a_ man_ the right way, though, and he'll go wild and hard and throw you down on your back before you even know what's happening." Theon slowly crawled over Robb, hovering, giving him the same bedroom eyes he'd seen him give unsuspecting bar maids at taverns. "They want to dominate you," he said quietly. "I think with a lot of men it's more like a conquest, a challenge. A great exchange of power." Robb gasped as Theon's hand gripped Robb's throbbing cock from the outside of his trousers. "A battle of wills to see who will yield to desire first."

Robb's voice was caught in his throat, and he felt himself unconsciously whimper at Theon's hand. He felt his breathing go short, and as his vision blurred for that moment, he felt himself begin to drown in the sea of wine and desire. The most horrifying part of the whole ordeal was that he didn't care how wrong it was. He glanced down and saw that Theon was still hard as a rock.

"What do you think fucking Cadenzsa would be like?" asked Robb, suddenly desperate to get the conversation elsewhere. He quickly sat up. "I think she'd be rough," he said. "I think she'd grab you and be unafraid, like this-" Robb's hand came and gripped the hair on the back of Theon's head and pulled his face close to his. Theon's eyes went a little wide with surprise, and then he grinned.

"She likes it rough," he whispered on Robb's lips. Theon smelled of wine and cooked meat. Robb gulped.

"How do you know?" Robb wasn't prepared for the answer Theon had, which was a bit of a drunken laugh. And with creeping realization he was washed over with a moment of clarity. "You...? And she?"

Theon sat up on his knees and looked down at Robb, reached his goblet and emptied his wine cup. A drop of red wine fell off his lips and onto Robb's leather.

"How could you?" asked Robb in a panicked whisper. He sat up. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone were to find out?"

"Well nobody's _going_ to find out, will they?" growled Theon as he pushed Robb down on the flat of his back. He loomed over Robb. "If you tell, I'll tell them that I fucked you, too." He really was drunk, for he would never say that if he were sober at all. But even if it was a threat, Robb felt his body tremble underneath Theon's lean frame.

"You'd be lying," whispered Robb.

"I could always just bend you over and fuck you like I did her," said Theon. "Then the Iron Islands would have a _real_ claim in the Greenlands." Theon then broke out laughing, leaning his forehead on Robb's chest for support. He then got up from the bed and went to his nightstand, pouring himself more wine, quietly laughing the whole time.

Robb's breathing became heavy, panicked, angry. "Why did you do it?" He demanded. "Tell me why."

Theon's expression was dark with a teasing smile. "You know what they say, give the Lady want she wants-"

Robb flew up and slammed Theon against the wall, his fists clenching on his leathers, which tore them further open. "You're lying!" he shouted.

"Why?" said Theon, who forcefully pushed Robb away. "Because somebody wanted to fuck me, even though I'm just a lowly Ward of the Starks? Well, let me tell you something: The Greyjoys have ruled the Iron Islands for over three-hundred years. No family in Westeros can look down on us." Theon was so close to his face. "Not even _you_ in this frozen pile of shit you call home." Robb was shaking with anger. Theon came in close and pushed Robb up against the wall, his hands leaning against the stones for support. His voice was low, and drunk, and husky, inches away from Robb's face. His hot breath was condensing on Robb's lips, which were full with blood and anger and pent-up desire for Gods-only-knew-what.

"Well, she wanted to," whispered Theon in Robb's ear. "She came into my room the day she was wearing that awful pink gown and stripped down to nothing on my bed. And she grabbed hold of my cock and pumped it like an expert. And she poured hot tallow on my chest. And she bit me on my neck. And I played with her arse with my fingers while she rode me. And then she came all over me like a cat in heat."

Robb's first instinct was to strike him square in the jaw, but what he actually did was worse.

"What are you doing?!"

"I don't know..."

He didn't, really, know what he was doing. But before he could even think he was already pushing him against the wall, his hands wandering and ripping and tearing at Theon's leathers, and the tunic beneath. His fingers were running over the muscles on his body, groping at his hips and his strong arms. His lips and tongue were already covering Theon's, and opening his mouth, and tasting his wine-coated teeth. He was already throbbing against him, and his body was hot and ready. And then he threw Theon on the bed.

"What are you doing?!"

Robb tore open his own doublet and threw it to the floor. He bent over Theon, who was now lying on his back, breathless and confused, probably just as confused as Robb was feeling. But he couldn't go back now, for he was breathing heavy and too hot-headed to think straight.

"Tell me what else," growled Robb, desperately gripping on Theon's cock. Robb licked his lips. "Tell me what else or I'll tell my father what you did to her."

Theon's breathing was heavy. "You're bluffing," he sneered.

"You're a Ward of the Starks! And I'm a Stark! So you should do as I say!" Theon's hand came up suddenly and gripped hard around Robb's throat, squeezing.

The Ironborn's face twisted into an angry and disgusted sneer."So that's it then, Lordling? You really _do _want me to fuck you?" With his free hand he made quick work of Robb's belt and slipped his hand into his trousers, squeezing hard at Robb's cock. Had he not squeezed so hard, Robb might have come all over his chest right then, but the shock of it all kept him from doing it. "Say it," Theon hissed. "Say it!"

"I want you to fuck me!" cried Robb in agony.

With Theon's hand still around Robb's throat he threw him on the bed and flipped him onto his front, grabbing his hair rough. "Say it again!"

"I want you to fuck me!" Robb whimpered, helpless, breathless, hard-up.

"And then you'll never say a word to anyone about Cadenzsa and I," ordered Theon, the sounds of his shirt fabric rumpling softly on the stone floor behind Robb.

"Not a word," Robb breathed.

Theon spit into his palm. "You'll take it to your grave," Theon ordered, reaching under and slowly stroking Robb's cock with his skilled hand. Robb gasped, then moaned in ecstasy.

"Yes," he whimpered, his eyes clenched shut in pleasure. Theon mounted Robb from behind and whispered into his ear with his hot mossy breath:

"And if _you_ say anything, I'll tell your father all about this. About how you _begged_ me to fuck you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No," Robb moaned, breathless. "Please don't tell my father. He'll punish me..."

"You had _better_ enjoy this," said Theon as he slapped Robb hard on his arse.

"Theon-"

"Shut up before I change my mind," said Theon as he flipped Robb onto his back and ripped his trousers off. Theon quickly unbuckled his own belt and stripped down to nothing. Robb's heart went in his throat as he saw Greyjoy naked. He was so slender, and yet ever bit on his body was muscle.

Theon loomed over Robb, who was spread open beneath him. Theon's gaze was hard, and he took his hand and began playing with Robb's cock. He bent down to kiss him, and the whiskers on Theon's growing-in beard rubbed against his chin. Shivers ran up and down his body, and he put his hands on Theon's shoulders. Their tongues slowly fought with each other, as if performing the Water Dance that Lady Forel had been doing earlier. And when Robb was near climax he realized that Theon was getting just as excited, too.

There they were, spread on his father's Ward's bed, slick with sweat and stinking of wine and dinner. He almost wondered, at one point, what would happen if his father were to walk in. What would happen if they went into his room and found him missing? Would they search Lady Forel's room? This place, in truth, would probably be the last place they'd look.

Robb's back arched and he gasped as Theon's fingers entered him, stretching him in a way he didn't know he could. As his fingers pumped in and out, his screams began to echo around the room. As Theon turned Robb over and started licking and kissing and biting down his back, Robb felt that same passionate desperation he had been feeling for himself. Was this lust? Was this so bad? It felt bad, but good, all at once. Robb didn't know how it was supposed to feel, but he had a feeling was that it was right.

"Theon..." he moaned the Ironborn's name as his tongue danced around the rim of his arse, and with one swift motion Theon entered Robb from behind, both of them let out a long moan. Robb felt fingers pull him up by his hair, and Theon pumped into him while reaching around and stroking his turgid cock. Out of instinct, Robb turned his head and took Theon's lips with a deep and passionate kiss. His hand reached behind him and felt Theon's cock as it pumped in and out of him.

Finally, he could barely take it and spilled his seed all over Theon's bed and furs. But Theon wasn't done. Theon wasn't nearly done.

Theon's stamina was unsurpassed, and Robb shouldn't have been as surprised as he was, for Theon could ride and run just as long as he could. But when it came to fucking, Theon was the Master-at-Arms. Theon bent him down and fucked him slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. At the end of the hour, Robb was writhing beneath him and covered with sweat. He thought that he was going to cum again when Theon did, all in a big rush, that felt hot and slick on his insides.

His fingers gripped into his hips, and he felt him shaking. He slowly pulled out of Robb, feeling the cum dripping out and down, all hot and wet. Theon flopped onto his back, his eyes closed. He sighed deeply. Robb didn't know what, exactly, to do next. He just sort of sat there, watching Theon heavily breathe. He leaned against the far-corner bedpost, his breathing as hard as Theon's.

As time passed, he watched Theon fall asleep. Perhaps he had forgotten Robb was there? Well, it didn't matter, because it was late anyway. Robb leaned down and laid against him. Theon wrapped an arm around him and sighed, his fingers running up through his curly hair.

"I think I love you," whispered Robb in both horror and sincerity.

"I love you too, Cadenzsa."

Robb pulled away with a smile of shock on his face. It must have been the exhaustion, or the drunkenness that made him think that he was laying with Lady Forel. He gave a tiny laugh; would Theon even remember this? Robb wasn't sure if he wanted to remember it, himself, for his head was still spinning as to what - exactly - had happened.

Robb had snuck into the room of his father's Ward and begged to be fucked by him. Robb had felt a strange passionate pleasure he'd never felt before. Was it this good with a woman? He had never been with a woman before - at least nothing past a kiss or two. He'd felt a woman's body under her gown, but nothing like this. So perhaps he didn't know if he only liked men, yet? Perhaps he really did like women only and this was just a practice run?

Perhaps Theon would think it was all a dream. Perhaps he would wake the next morning and look at Robb with suspicious eyes. Robb might even play coy and act like nothing happened. Theon might even try to say "Nothing happened," to him. Robb imagined that, perhaps if he ever felt this way again - which he didn't know what to call it, but that didn't matter - he would say to Theon:

"Nothing can happen whenever you want."

He dressed and went back into his room and tried to fall asleep. Robb couldn't sleep, of course, though, because of what had happened. But he tried. He tried to close his eyes and count backwards from a thousand. He tried reading for a little while, but his candles dimmed and there was only the fire. He got up once or twice to add more wood to the fire, but he mostly stayed in bed.

At dawn, when he finally fell asleep, his mother came into his room. "Wake up, sleepy-head," she said as she came and kissed him on the forehead. "Time for breakfast. And then you and your father are going to take Bran for his first hunt."

* * *

I have no words. R&R.

*fangirl flailz dies FEELS*


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Theon**

* * *

It was today.

It was always today, of course, but today was the day that Syrio Forel came to Winterfell. They expected him that afternoon, and Winterfell was all abuzz about it. From every handmaiden to kitchen slut there was, they were all talking about Lady Forel's father. They were putting on great airs, too, for him, for they even insisted on Robb and Theon and even Jon shaving and trimming their wild curls for him. Lady Catelyn Stark, Theon suspected, was overjoyed to see Cadenzsa leaving. Cadenzsa was everything that a Tully Princess was not**.**

Bran had seen them coming first, of course, for he rather enjoyed climbing and was very good at it. He was at the top of one of the towers - though Theon didn't know which one for he wasn't there when it happened - when he saw them coming. But Winterfell came out bustling that brisk afternoon. They lined up to receive them, Cadenzsa and company included, wearing black. And when they came...

First came in five men, all on horseback, and four of them in bright Braavosi colors of reds and oranges. One was all in black, quite small, and with a mop of short curly hair that looked a bit like a hedgehog's back. Then some other men rode in - making ten in all - all on horseback, and they were Westerosi. Sellswords, Theon guessed, to guard them made up two, and the rest were well-dressed little Lordling-looking things. They all dismounted their horses and came in front of the Stark line-up.

The little dark man, with a touch of silver-grey in his black beard, came up to approach Lord Stark. He then smiled and stood with his chest out. "You scruffy old dog," he laughed with an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"You dirty little man." Lord Stark then busted out laughing and the two men embraced. He then shook hands gratefully and then introduced him to the Stark family.

"Syrio Forel, this is my wife, Lady Catelyn Stark."

"A pleasure, good Lady," bowed the little man lowly with a grin and great flourish of words that were even heavier than Cadenzsa's. Theon was more than a little shocked to see how much Cadenzsa resembled her father. They had the same hair and quite a similar face, and both of their lips were full - must have been a Braavosi thing, or perhaps a Forel thing. Theon then guessed that all of the Forel family looked quite a bit like her, with their dark skin and curly hair and almond-shaped eyes.

When the line-up was done, and Syrio Forel came to his daughter, Cadenzsa gave him a rather queer look - a submissive look, if Theon had to guess - as if she were embarrassed to have to be picked up here. She gave a curtsy in the Braavosi fashion, which involved their arms coming out to lift up the gown and a low bow of the head as you bent your knees.

"Is that the way you greet your father after so long?" said Syrio Forel, sounding quite annoyed. Cadenzsa's eyebrows tilted up in question. "I will have a kiss, if you please!" Cadenzsa laughed and wrapped her arms around her father, kissing him on the cheek. Theon saw, in that moment, how precious Cadenzsa was to him. Well, who wouldn't find her precious? He supposed that any Westerosi father would perhaps find a daughter like her to be rather rough, but Braavosi? Culturally, she was perfect for them.

The rest of the afternoon went in a bit of a blur for Theon. He would never see her again after that day. They would stay for the feast, of course, that night and - perhaps - another day if they were tired. The hospitality of the North was easily theirs for the time it took to rest from such a long journey. And were they only on horseback? Theon expected that a carriage would be more appropriate for a man of Syrio Forel's standing. It would have been easier to forget, though, had Theon not been in Lord Stark's service that afternoon.

"We've planned a feast for you," he heard Lord Stark say to Syrio Forel as Theon aided in the unpacking of his things. "And tomorrow we plan to go hunting, which you should have to join us. Stay the whole week, if you like, old friend. It's been too long."

"I fear, Lord Eddard Stark, I cannot stay the week or perhaps even a day! I fear my schedule is too tight. We must sail to King's Landing, soon, and I must travel far more South after that."

Theon poured wine for the men, more out of wanting to get closer in on their conversation than to be courteous.

"I see," said Lord Stark. "At least stay for the hunt tomorrow. My boys are anxious to hunt with you."

"You have many children, Lord Stark," said Syrio Forel, glancing at Theon a bit too long when he set the goblets by them and continued aiding his men unpacking things. "I take it Cadenzsa hasn't been too much trouble for you?"

"Not at all," said Lord Stark. "She's a wonderful little girl. Everyone here loves her. My sweet girl, Arya, has taken a real liking to her, especially."

"Everyone, hm?" Syrio Forel drank the wine, made a face at it, then shrugged it off and drank more. "Tomorrow we shall hunt. I shall get to know these boys of yours. I should think that Cadenzsa will need the extra time to pack, anyway. She has a...tendency to drag her feet when it comes to these things."

That was a funny thing to hear, thought Theon as he was dismissed with a wave of Lord Stark's hand. As he walked down the hallway, feeling a bit more tight-gutted than he wanted to feel, he thought it was a _very_ funny thing to hear, indeed. For it seemed that Cadenzsa didn't want to leave here at all.

Well, anyway, so what if she was leaving? If Theon had the chance to leave, he'd do it, too. He almost felt sorry for her, though, for he knew she'd have to travel all the way down to Dorne to find a husband that would take her. Those Dornishmen...they even looked a bit like her. If she were lucky, she'd perhaps find her way into the court of the Martells. It was a long journey down there, and it was plenty of time for her to get rid of that stupid accent of hers. She would fit in well in the Southern court; she didn't belong here, in this frozen pile of shit.

She didn't really _belong_ anywhere.

But, still, he may as well be nice to her for her last days there. So he dressed well for the feast in the cleanest black leather doublet he could find, and even broke out the fur-lined hunting boots that weren't yet broken in for the feast. It was expected of him to look his best, and - although he knew he was far handsomer than any of Stark's boys without much effort - that meant dressing to the nines. Moleskin gloves, fine cloaks, and all.

The day was fading and the feast would be at sundown. Theon went to Cadenzsa's chambers to escort her to the feast. Socially, it should have been Robb to do that, considering he was only a Ward and Robb was the firstborn son of the House, but Theon hadn't gotten any word on Robb escorting her there so he just went anyway. Since Robb wasn't there, waiting at her door, Theon guessed that he had been right.

And then Cadenzsa came out in a gown of island blue that belled and tucked and ruffled at the sleeves, with ribbons of black that trimmed the top and waist and around her arms. Her hair was in that Braavosi style, where it was all loosely gathered off to one side and plaited long and tucked up just at her ear in a braided bun.

"Stop!" he commanded, and she did. She froze, in fact, in place, and only moved her eyes to see whom had commanded her to do so.

He looked her up and down, watching every breath she took. The gown had to have been Braavosi, for they were the ones with that low cut and skirt that started and flared out like flower petals at the hips. It was laced in the back, too, with many black ribbons against that lovely island blue. And the gown's puffed sleeves looked quite a bit like big blue beads on a single black ribbon. When he had fully circled her, he found that she was still standing perfectly still.

"You," he said, "are a vision."

She rolled her eyes then and gave a hoot. "Oh, stop," she said.

"No, you are," he said. "You really are."

She smiled. Then she sighed through her nose. "Shall we walk, my Lord?" Theon nodded as she circled her arm around his. The silk of her puffed sleeves bustled against his leathers. She seemed nervous, but Theon didn't want to talk about it. In truth, he really just wanted to stay in his room until she was gone for good.

The feast was set with Syrio Forel at Lord Stark's side, of course, and Cadenzsa ate with Theon and Robb and the other Stark children. Jon wasn't there, which didn't surprise Theon, for he knew that there was only going to be so much that Lady Stark could stand. The Braavosi men and Sellswords that had come with Cadenzsa's father were a friendly bunch, and they filled the hall with a great deal of songs. At one point during the evening, Theon looked up and caught Syrio Forel watching him. Perhaps it was the way that Cadenzsa was around him. The way she laughed a little too hard, or the way she leaned in to whisper a few words a little too long, or perhaps even the way she smiled a little too genuinely. She should have been smiling to Robb in that way, and Theon should have been the one to tell her this. Stupid foreign girl. She was going to get herself into a great deal of trouble.

Fathers and daughters, from Theon's experience, had rather confusing relationships. On the one hand, fathers didn't want their little girls to ever grow up and become women. On the other hand, they hope their daughters grow and become beautiful to marry well. On one hand, a father never wanted to see his daughter cry. On the other hand, he often had no problems putting her to work or beating her when she was willful and froward enough. If you came from a poor enough family, they didn't care for daughters at all. They sent them off to be whores or workers. It was only if you had a title, or were rich, that you cared that you had daughters. Daughters meant alliances. Daughters meant dowries. Daughters meant daughters for the Lords they married to, which would give more daughters, and more daughters.

But Syrio Forel and Cadenzsa Forel? Gods only knew what had happened there.

At one point during the night, just when Theon glanced up, he caught eyes with Syrio Forel. If Theon hadn't have known the man was father to Cadenzsa, he might have thought something like 'What is that little man staring at?' But Syrio Forel was Cadenzsa's father, and so Theon smiled his best with a respectful nod, he couldn't help but feel a pang of fear. But he couldn't up and leave like Jon would have in that situation. If he got up and left, he would suspect something. In those eyes and gloved hands, Theon saw a killer, strange and exotic and unknown, that seemed to have no qualms about slaying the man that bedded his daughter. So he instead went back to the feast and his conversation with Robb and Cadenzsa, who seemed to be drinking away any bad feelings she could have possibly had.

After the feast, Robb escorted Cadenzsa back to her room. It was best that way, thought Theon, for them to be seen together walking away, as Robb was the honorable son of Lord Stark, and not his hard-up little Ward. Theon sighed and went to his room alone that night. When he took off his clothes and lay his head on his pillow, he noticed something on his end table.

A folded parchment with the words "_Please don't forget about me_" written on it in a flourishing, swirling, flowery hand that could only be Cadenzsa's. Folded in the parchment, though, was Cadenzsa's pendant on its long, delicately gold chain. Theon recognized it easily. It was a gem of aquamarine set in the back of a golden turtle, which Cadenzsa wore resting just at the top of the space between her breasts.

Theon held it for a long time as he lay on the flat of his back. It was dangerous that she left it there. It was dangerous for him to have it in his room. So he tucked it into his tunic and decided that he'd never take it off, so as to nobody would find it. Nobody would ever see it, he decided. So long as he kept it hidden under his clothes, nobody would ever see or suspect. It would be their secret.

The next morning, Theon woke early for the hunt. He was the finest Bowman in Winterfell, and they would surely need his arrows were they to catch anything. So he dressed in his dark tunic dark-brown leather doublet, and his mud-stained trousers that he designated solely for hunting. They were dark blue, once, but now they more resembled the color of tree bark. He put his gloves on as he walked to the stables to prepare the horses. Forel's men were already there, speaking to each other in, he guessed, Bravosi. He didn't mind them so much, except they were both rather loud and lavishly dressed - bright red blooming blouses and white trousers, tight and pulled up _much_ higher than any man's trousers should be pulled up - and all for a hunt. One of the lanky brutes caught him staring with a sneer.

"What-'ah-what-ah' what? What you stare?!" barked one of them.

Theon rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I talk to you, _boy_!" said the Bravosi again, flipping his long, greasy black hair indignantly. "You want to die?" The other one laughed.

Theon pointed at their clothes. "We're going hunting, not whoring," he said, rather annoyed.

"What-a'h-what you say, boy?" asked the Bravosi, coming closer, looking down on him with his beak of a nose.

"I said your colors are too bright." He said it rather loudly and emphasized each word, because these foreigners were obviously stupid. "And you look like a painted whore."

The Bravosi sneered and reached for the dancing sword at his hip "You little-!?"

"What is this?" Syrio Forel asked, coming in, clad all in black. He then spoke to them in Bravosi, which caused both men to hang their heads and walk away. He walked to Theon, studying. Gods be good, that man was short.

"My Lord," greeted Theon, with a respectful bow of his head, feeling more than a little tense. He then realized he had no idea how to address Syrio Forel. He surely _was_ a Lord, wasn't he? Theon wanted to ask, but there was no polite way to do so, and he didn't want to offend Cadenzsa's father.

"So what do you say to my men to make them puff up?" Theon couldn't figure if his accent was better than Cadenzsa's or worse.

"I simply stated, my Lord, that their clothes are inappropriate for a hunt."

Syrio Forel gave a very amused smirk and made several flourishing gestures with his hand as he said "And tell me, my boy, why is the dress of my men so inappropriate for a hunt?"

Theon gulped, suddenly realizing that Cadenzsa had no problem beating him up in the yard with her Dancing, so her father could probably nick his cock off with a flick of his wrist. "The colors are too bright. We'll be visible for the idea of being a predator is to blend in."

His jaw went forward, and his lip tightened a little, and his chin was brought up so he could look down his nose at him. And then he nodded and waved at his men, speaking in that liquid-sounding language of Bravosi, which caused them to both leave.

"You are called Theon Greyjoy?" he asked, turning around.

"Lord Theon Greyoy," he said, tight-stomached as he was, he still looked at his eyes.

"I hear your arrows shoot with the fury of a God."

He was tempted to ask from whom he had heard that, but his pride betrayed him when he smiled and said "You hear right."

"I hear you show Cadenzsa to shoot an arrow."

Theon didn't gulp. He nodded with a smile. "You hear right again." And for good measure, he added "I figured you wouldn't mind, my Lord, considering she learned her deadliness with a sword from you."

Syrio Forel gave him a look that he could not read, and then a grin. "Just so," he said, seemingly impressed. "Cadenzsa has told me of you." _Shit_, thought Theon. _A thousand times shit. That stupid fucking girl has sealed my death_. "She has told me _many_ things of you." Theon kept his eyes equal with his, his jaw tight. He felt his throat closing with fear. A Westerosi Knight? That he could take. But a Water Dancer with a skill that exceeded Cadenzsa's ten-fold? He never stood a chance. He had seen Cadenzsa's Dance, and known it through the many afternoons he had spent with her, practicing, training. He knew that she was deadly. And he had not felt such fear that he had felt when her father was so close.

"What things has she said, my Lord?" Theon kept his voice from cracking.

He gave a grin. "You are troubled?" asked the little man. Theon's palms began to sweat. "And why would you be troubled? Cadenzsa tells me good things of you. She says you have talent."

Theon frowned.

"Why look so dis-heart?" Did he mean disheartened? He pursed his lips. "Today, we hunt. Tomorrow, I leave with Cadenzsa for King's Landing. So I suggest that, since you have become friends, you say your goodbyes tonight." Then he patted Theon on the shoulder, walked to the horses, and mounted with his men on their fine gray horses. Theon prepared the saddles and Lord Stark with the boys came. Once everyone was saddled, the hunt began. Theon didn't shoot many arrows that day, but let Robb do some instead. The hunt wasn't successful, though, for he could tell that Robb was nervous around Cadenzsa's father. At one point, Theon shot down a fat goose, and then two rabbits. Robb and his father were talking quite a lot, and little Bran was quiet. Snow was there, too, but he didn't speak.

Theon felt sick to his stomach through most of the hunt. The moment it was over he wanted to go to his room, but Syrio Forel insisted on him coming into town for a few drinks. So Theon drank with them, and drank, and drank. Then they came back to Winterfell and they drank some more. Robb kept on glancing at Cadenzsa during dinner awkwardly, and Arya wasn't throwing food about so she was seriously in a sour mood. Cadenzsa sat merrily and spoke with Sansa and Bran, and little Rickon sat on her lap when he got sleepy. She didn't seem to mind, though, for she had grown rather attached to them. She barely looked at Theon the entire evening.

Later that night, after midnight, Theon guessed, he found himself pacing angrily in his room. Gods know why he did it, but he stormed out of his room and came to hers. He thought of pounding on the door with his fist, but since he didn't hear the music playing, he let himself in. It turns out, however, that she wasn't asleep, like he had thought she would be, but packing her things away into trunks. When he closed the door behind him, she frowned in question.

"I don't want to fuck anyone else," he suddenly said, not quite knowing if he was aware of it at all. His brain and mouth seemed to be disconnected as he continued. He walked to her with great conviction and tore his cloak off his own shoulders and roughly threw them around hers. He pinned it together around the ruffs of her blue gown and took her arms in both his hands. "No matter where you go," he ordered roughly, "know that you were mine first. You wear a Greyjoy's cloak now. I would say the words to bind you forever as my Salt Wife if I knew them, but you'll be good on it either way. I know you will."

"What are you saying?" she asked quietly, confused.

"I'm saying," he almost shouted, his heart nearing a hysterical rate of pounding, "that no matter what banner you end up under, know that you were under the Greyjoy's first! Your colors are black and gold, do you understand me?!"

She didn't say anything. She smiled with a tiny laugh and nodded.

"I'm coming to get you," he whispered, his hands shaking. "Keep your eyes on the sea, do you hear? I'll come and steal you to Pyke." She nodded. He could see in her eyes she understood what he was really wanting to say. "You're mine. Do you understand? Promise me."

After a long pause, she said "What is my new family motto?"

Theon couldn't help but grin. Silly foreigner. "You mean our _words_?" he said. "'We Do Not Sow.'"

"What does _that_ mean?"she asked.

"It means I'm going to come for you on a ship with black sails and the whole Iron Fleet behind me to come and reave and pillage on your new husband's land and take you away with me."

"Sounds fearsome," she said with a tiny giggle.

"What are you laughing at?" Theon asked, now a little enraged.

She shrugged. "I think all you would have to do is send me a Raven and I'll meet you at the docks. That way you wouldn't have to hurt any innocent bystanders. Warfare is a terrible thing. And if you were to do that to a Great House here in Westeros, I think it would cause a war. And I am not the kind of woman to cause a war."

"If I want to cause a war over you, I'll fucking cause a war over you, woman!" Cadenzsa bent and laughed with her head against his chest. She cupped his cheek with her hand and smiled.

"Alright, _shekh ma shieraki anni_, you may cause a war over me." She then wrapped her arms around him in a very long, soft embrace. She didn't move or look at his face or try to kiss him. She just held onto him; when he looked down, Theon realized that this was his only good cloak, even if the fur around the collar was a bit worn by this point. Well, so what? He'd go and buy another one soon when Lady Catelyn started planning for another feast.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered into the crook of her neck, suddenly feeling weak in her arms.

"I'm going to miss you, too," she said. She then came and kissed him deeply.

"I _am_ going to come and get you, Cadenzsa," he said softly. "Make no mistake."

She smiled softly. "Maybe I'll just come get you." They were silent for a long time. "I hate long goodbyes," she said. "Let's just say, I'll see you soon."

Theon gulped. "I'll see you soon."

The next morning, the line-up was there to see them off. New horses had been bought that afternoon to hitch up to Cadenzsa's carriage, and all of her things were being loaded up. She was in her travelling clothes, now, and had been smart enough to not wear Theon's cloak to say goodbye. Lord Stark was there with Syrio Forel saying things like 'are you sure you can't stay longer?' and whatnot. When she came to say goodbye to the Starks, she bowed low.

"I cannot ever thank you enough for the time we have spent together," she said. "I love you all dearly. And I'll miss every single one of you." Arya then broke out with a sob. Cadenzsa quickly came and knelt in front of her. "None of that!" she admonished.

Arya sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. Sansa rolled her eyes. Lady Stark came to her side and put her arms around her. "Hush, I'm sure that Lady Forel will write us, hm?"

"Of course I will," said Cadenzsa. "You and I, sweet girl, are twin souls. We'll see each other again."

"Do you promise?" sobbed Arya. Cadenzsa laughed with a nod. The little underfoot then bolted and wrapped her arms around Cadenzsa's neck. She hugged her tight for a moment and then gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you soon." Cadenzsa did similar goodbyes with the younger ones, and with Sansa she gave a polite nod and curtsy. When she got to Robb, she stopped. "Robb?" she said. "Thank you for everything."

Robb awkwardly gulped, then he took her hand and kissed it. "I shall forever cherish the time we have spent together, my Lady."

Cadenzsa laughed quietly with a toothy grin. "I will, too. We'll keep in touch."

"I pray we do," he said.

She nodded again to Lord and Lady Stark. "I will someday find a way to repay your kindness to me."

"Think nothing of it," said Lord Stark. "The hospitality of the North is always yours."

She curtsied. Theon then caught her winking at Jon Snow with a smile. Then she waved goodbye and went to her carriage with her two handmaidends. As Lord Stark and Lady Stark bid goodbye, Cadenzsa caught his eye with a long and haunting look, like she had just lost everything good that would ever come to her in her life. And as she closed the door to the carriage, Theon felt a piece of him die.

That night, he rode out in the middle of the night to the Brothel, and bought the services of three different girls. After some anger-fucking, though, and with dawn approaching and the girls walking bow-legged, he finally went to Ros and gave her a good fuck. He spent nearly all of his purse that night, and it didn't help one bit. Because Cadenzsa was still gone. And the polite truth of their situation was he would probably never see her again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Robb**

* * *

"But Robb!" whine Arya, wriggling like a puppy in her brother's arms. "Robb, put me down!"

"Well, it's what you get for tossing an onion tart at Sansa's face; and while we were feasting Royalty, no less," he said, Arya's heels dangling at his knees as he carried her with her back against his chest. The sounds of rowdy voices and tooting horns and othersuch musical sounds echoing softer and softer as Robb carried his sister to her bedroom. Nymeria, Arya's new pup, was scratching madly at her door from behind. Robb set his sister down and opened the door, finding a puddle of piss by the carpet.

"Nymeria!" squealed Arya. "You're supposed to do that outside...!" Arya took her rug and dragged it over the wet spot.

"Arya, get something else!" He quickly grabbed a kerchief that had been carelessly tossed to the floor, probably earlier that day, and dabbed up the piss puddle. "You want your room smelling like wolf piss?"

Arya hugged her puppy close. "Nymeria didn't mean it," she said with a pout. "She just can't get out by herself. It's not her fault!"

Robb nodded with a grin. "I'm not mad at you, Underfoot. Just clean it up," said Robb. "And to bed with you."

"But Robb! It's barely dark out! And everyone's still eating!"

"Well you should have thought of that before you hurled an onion tart at your sister's face!" Robb japed. "Now, to bed, young miss. Sweet dreams," he said, kissing her messy brown hair on the top of her head and closing the door behind him. Deciding it might be a good idea to check on his own Direwolf pup, he went and stopped at his own room. The pup hadn't pissed on his rugs or rushes, but he had decided to start gnawing at the bottom post on his bed, which was now half-eaten away with wood shavings all about his floor.

"No, no, no!" he said with a gasp, coming to pick him up. "Don't do that!" He scooped up his pup, who went calm in his hands. He was the size of a nice fat piglet at this point, and just as warm on the belly. "What's the matter, eh? Why you chewing? You hungry? Come on, boy, let's feed you." The pups hadn't yet even gotten their teeth full-in, and had just barely opened their eyes. The pup looked up at Robb like he didn't know who he was, but was willing enough to accept any love he was willing to give. Still, the pup had grown quite amazingly fast, nearly tripling in size since the day they had found the lot of them. Unlike his brothers and sisters, though, Robb's wolf pup didn't have a name yet.

Sansa had named her small girl Lady, while Arya's was called Nymeria after the great Dornish Lady. Bran had called his gray-and-silver pup Summer, and little Rickon - whom had thankfully gotten over the fact that it was only a Direwolf and not some kind of monster - Shaggydog, who was as black as night. Even his brother, Jon Snow, had found a name for his Ghost, the runt of the litter, with white fur and red eyes. But Robb, firstborn of Winterfell, had just been calling his "boy" for now.

"We'd best be discreet," he said to the pup as he opened the door with one hand and balanced his cub in the other. "We're feasting the King and the Royal family tonight. Don't know how they'll be for seeing a Direwolf." The pup snorted. "You can't understand me, can you? Oh well, you're still nice to talk to, boy." The wolf pup then suddenly started squirming quite vigorously in his arms as Robb walked down the corridor. "What's the matter, now?"

Robb's pup let out an otherworldly shrieking bark and bit into Robb's arm. Robb cried out as he dropped his pup, who took off running faster than he had ever seen before. "Boy!" he shouted, taking off after him. The pup was running down Winterfell's corridors faster than he had ever seen him bolt, and it was like a blur of grey turning each corner. "Boy!" he kept calling, horrified at the idea of having to chase him under the tables in the middle of feasting his Grace, King Robert Baratheon, and all of Winterfell, _and_ the Lannisters to boot. Fortunately, he just went into the kitchen, where he gave all of the cooks quite a great scare when he dove under one of the preparation tables and pounced on the fattest rat Robb had ever seen.

The rat let out a squeek as his Direwolf pup quickly ended its life, and began to snarl and growl and gnaw on it quite vigorously. Robb got on his hands and knees as one of the new cook's assistants fainted at the sight of all that blood, and crawled underneath to snatch up his pup. His gold eyes looked at Robb, who then laid down the rat's bloodied corpse at Robb's hand. Robb couldn't help but laugh.

"You're fast, boy," he said. "Like the wind." He picked up his pup and coddled him in his arms. "Say, that's what I'll call you. Grey Wind. Would you like that?" As if to give some sort of approval, his flat tongue came up and flicked at the tip of Robb's nose. Robb laughed and ruffled his fur. He made his way back from the kitchen after feeding the pup some stewed meat and bread soaked in goat's milk. The pup was cuddling against his chest and sighed contentedly as he passed down Greyjoy's room. Much to Robb's chagrin, a Southern girl came flying out of his room, her gown half-off and screaming with glee. Greyjoy came laughing out with her, half drunk and leaning against his door frame, a crooked smile on his face.

Robb's face went a little red when Theon's eyes met his. The Ironborn shrugged. "Southern girls..." he sighed. "Wild."

Robb sighed through his nose, Grey Wind looking up at him. His heart felt a little tight, a little tugged at. He would have said something had he been able to find the words for it, but Theon was already fairly drunk and wasn't sure if he'd remember it. Robb wasn't sure if Theon ever remembered anything when he was drunk, for he hadn't brought up what had happened between them several months ago. Lady Forel was but a memory in Winterfell, and so, it seemed, was the night between them. So much for loving her, thought Robb. He wasn't sure if Greyjoy was capable of loving anyone or anything.

"You know we're hunting tomorrow, don't you? With the king? You know you'll have to get up early," said Robb, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Theon scoffed. "Never once had the sight of a headache after a night of drink. And I've got at least four more fucks in me tonight."

"You're disgusting," said Robb, pushing past him, scratching Grey Wind behind the ears and going off to bed. He could have gone back to the feast with the Royal family, but he just stayed in bed with his pup, letting him fall asleep on his chest. His mind often wandered when he was alone in his room like that, all quiet with nothing but the faint sounds of whispering wind at the windows and his own breathing to lull him away from consciousness. Sometimes, the thoughts would take up so much of his mind that he didn't have any time to say to himself _I'm falling asleep_.

How many women had Theon bedded since Robb had known him? He could recall the first time he saw Theon kiss a girl, albeit hazily, for Robb couldn't even remember what he had been doing before that moment which had caused him to spy on the Ironborn boy. It was perhaps two or three months after his father had brought home a second son from the second war of Robb's lifetime, and Theon was a scant eleven years old. It was a farm girl who was the niece of one of the cooks, and Robb remembered her messy yellow hair that looked like warm soft hay. Robb would never forget what Theon had said to the girl to make her kiss him, as long as he lived:

_"If we were in_ my_ home, I would make you my Salt Wife_! _And you'd only have to milk cows if you wanted to._"

Robb didn't know what that meant. But it worked, for the girl giggled and kissed him, and ran away into the kitchen, leaving Theon quite red-faced and happy-looking. Theon had always had a queerly good luck with women. As Robb got older, he thought it was because Theon would fuck anything that moved. Robb sort of admired Theon for that nearly shameless-well, entirely shameless-courage with women. Robb always felt awkward around girls, no matter how many times he had heard what a pretty lad he was. He liked girls plenty, of course, but Theon was the one that always bedded them in the end. Robb had never bedded any women. The only time he'd ever been in a bed with anyone was with Theon. But it was probably best to not ever mention that.

The next morning, they were joined in their hunt by the King, the Prince, the Lannister brothers, and many of his knights. The hunt was rather successful, and when Robb returned he found his sister Sansa overjoyed. Of course she was gushing about going South and becoming Joffrey's Queen. So his sister would be the Queen of Westeros? It was all she had ever wanted, to be a part of the Southern court, out where the action is. It wasn't so simple for the men of Winterfell. Robb's destiny was up here, in the frozen North, for it was his home, and he was just as much a part of this land as it was a part of him.

It almost made him sick in a way, to see his sister wed to that right royal prick of a Prince. But brothers and sisters were not meant to be on the same side all the time. They were cut from two different sides from the same cloth, their mother would say. He wasn't necessarily ready to just ride off and leave right then again, but he knew he had to prepare himself for a ride up to the Wall with their Uncle Benjen; Jon was leaving. For good. And they all had to prepare.

He understood. Robb understood why Jon wanted to do it. The Wall was an honorable place to find redemption, where it didn't matter what your last name was. Jon was just as good a warrior as Robb and Theon were, but it didn't matter anywhere other than the Wall. Jon's goodbyes were sad ones, but quiet ones. Jon was even going to give Arya a Dancing Sword as a goodbye present, as inspiration of her new idol, Lady Cadenzsa Forel, who had been quite long-gone at this point. She even was excited to go along to King's Landing, hoping that she might run into her again. Robb could just imagine Lady Forel walking about the capitol city, wearing those lovely furs and blue silks draped over her shoulders. Maybe if she did run into Arya, she could teach her how to be a Lady in a way that his mother could never do. Too bad Jon could never see Arya become that, the poor little horseface. Too bad Jon could never wed and come to Robb's wedding when that day came. Too bad Jon couldn't be there for all the important moments of their lives, such as marriage or children or the days when Winter turned to Spring.

He wondered what kind of woman Robb would end up marrying? He sometimes dreamt of a beautiful Princess to bring up to Winterfell, and show her the wonders of the castle. There was hot water that ran through the walls of Winterfell, you see, so it wasn't ever that bad when the hundred-foot snows came to the walls. But he knew that it was a hard place to live. He didn't really ever think about it until he had met Lady Forel, but this was a hard place to convince a woman to stay at. It would probably be easy to find a Northern girl from a Noble House to bring to Winterfell with him, one that his mother and father would both approve of. But that, of course, was not for a long while.

About halfway through the day, he went to Theon's room. In an uncharacteristic move, Robb didn't knock for the door was ajar, and he walked in on Theon writing a letter. Robb gave a crooked smile and shut the door behind him. The click of the door's handle made Theon gasp and jump out of his chair. He quickly grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up and stuffing it into his pocket. Robb's eyes went wide as Theons were, who was panting with shock. He gulped.

"What do you need?"

Robb frowned. "What's that?" He pointed.

"What's what?" asked Theon with a very nervous shrug.

"What were you writing?" Theon's eyes darted nervously. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," insisted Theon.

"If it's nothing, then why can't I see it?" Robb grabbed for the letter, and Theon didn't protest. He just looked the other way with a slow sigh as Robb uncrumpled the parchment, and the ink-spotted surface was blank, except for a smudged "_Cadenzsa_," written at the top. Robb felt his hands begin to shake. It had been over three months, and the Starks hadn't heard a single word from Cadenzsa, only that she had arrived in King's Landing with her father safely some time ago. Young Lord Stark looked up at Theon, who was looking away in shame. Robb's mouth went dry.

When Theon's eyes met Robb's, he felt his heart stop. His eyes wandered slowly down to Theon's pale throat, and he caught sight of a gold chain that was so thin, it looked like it had been spun from a sprig of straw. Young Stark furrowed his brow and reached up and caressed the chain with his bare fingers, drawing out the pendant; a golden turtle with a great oval-shaped aquamarine gemstone as its back. If Robb hadn't been holding that chain and had a fear of dragging Theon down with him, he might have fainted.

"Are you out of your mind?" Robb rasped. "Did you steal this?"

Theon snatched the pendant away from Robb's fingers and tucked it back into the leathers of his doublet with a very angry look on his face. "It's mine."

"It's not yours!" whispered Robb in horror. "It's Lady Forel's! I saw her wearing that pendant while she was here! What will they say? What will everyone say if they find you with that?!"

Theon's voice was a low and desperate whisper. "She gave it to me so I wouldn't forget her-it's mine!" Robb had never seen Theon like this before; so afraid and so...vulnerable? He felt his knees go weak. He fell backwards a little and sat on Theon's bed. The two of them exchanged a long look.

"Have you been writing to her?" Robb asked after a long moment of consideration for what to say next.

Theon sighed and shook his head.

"Has she written to you?"

Theon shook his head again, and sank into his chair.

There was a long pause. "You said once...when you were drunk...that you loved her." Theon snapped his head up. "Do you love her? Theon, do you love Cadenzsa?" Robb wasn't expecting it to hurt so much when he said it aloud. Theon didn't say anything. He had never been so silent before. Theon was _not_ the kind of man to stay silent. "Theon..."

Theon said nothing. He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in his fingers.

"Theon... Does she love you?"

Finally, he spoke. "She never said she did, really," said Theon. "She didn't even really say goodbye when she left."

A beat. "What do you mean?"

Theon shrugged and leaned back in the chair. "She said she hated goodbyes. She asked me to tell her instead that I would see her soon." He closed his eyes and sighed with a sad smile. "I didn't see the harm in it, at the time. Poor stupid foreign girl, giving her that kind of hope. I've wanted to write to her, just to check in and make sure she's alright. But you know, she's probably in Dorne right now. A Raven might die of exhaustion before reaching her all the way down there in that hot sandbox."

"Why do you say that?"

The Ironborn looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention. "I told her that I'd keep it a secret." The way Theon said it almost made Robb pause; he had rarely seen Theon ever nervous before.

"But she's not here," said Robb. "We'll probably never see her again. Please, Theon, tell me," he nearly begged.

A deep and soulful sigh came from his full lips. "You have to swear not to tell anyone. If this gets back to her that I told you, I don't know what she'll do."

"Gods be good, you _are_ in love!" gasped Robb, going pale with either horror or shock.

"Shut up!" snapped Theon.

"No, you are!" said Robb, putting his hand on Theon's. "You would never care what a girl thinks, ever! You've never cared about a girl, ever! Gods, Theon! You've got to do something-!"

"Shut up!" Theon shouted, pouncing on Robb and holding him down against the bed. "You shut your fucking mouth, Stark! It's not like it would make any difference even if I was, it's not like I could do anything about it. I'm a prisoner here, Robb. A Prisoner. Not a Ward, a Prisoner. A _Hostage_. No matter how much anybody might want it, I can't get out of this frozen wasteland until my father dies. Gods only know how many years that will be. Even if I could marry her, she'd have to stay here, in Winterfell, a prisoner's wife. Do you think that's the kind of life she wants for herself? She could barely even stand it here when she was a guest! _I_ can barely even stand it here!"

It stung like an arrow through his heart, to hear those words from him, whom he loved like family, like no other. "Theon, please, I thought we were brothers!"

He must have said something to strike Greyjoy's salty, iron heart, for his lip quivered, and his hands shook for the tiniest of moments, and his body went soft and pulled away off of Robb's chest. For the first time, Robb saw Theon go weak, and soft, and hurt. He sank back into his chair. Robb sat up and reached out; their fingers twined together, and for that moment, they found comfort in each other.

"Is she marrying someone in Dorne?" asked Robb.

A shrug came off of his father's Ward's shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe in King's Landing, she'll find her husband. I don't know the details, but I know that she just can't marry someone in Braavos. Nobody is good enough, I reckon, according to her father, out there... So now they're here in Westeros looking for someone with money and a title and all of that other bullshit that can take care of her." He sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking even starting that letter. I was just staring at that parchment blankly when you walked in. What to say to that woman? I don't want to fuck up what ever she has in her future by letting any possible suitors see some letter from me. I was foolish to even start that letter."

"You miss her." It wasn't so much a question as it was a realization. "You really miss her." It was almost enough to make Robb sick with shock; Theon had never spoken of missing anyone, not even his mother, father, sister, or home before this day. Theon's feelings about missing anyone or anything had been either silent or nonexistent until this moment. Robb felt the world shift in that moment, and were he not so aware of it, he might have actually appeared to be short of breath as his brother-in-arms answered, after a very long pause.

"I think I just miss talking to her," he confessed in a low whisper. "Not really the fucking - of course it was very good - but just talking. Every day that she was here, trying to be kept away from you, I got to be with her. We sat and talked, and we Danced and talked, and we rode together and talked. I took her into town with me, and she shot arrows with me, and she even tried to show me how to play the lute at one point, if you can imagine it... I miss her stupid foreign voice the most." Robb didn't know what to say. After a long while, Theon shook his head, adopted his normal demeanor of Iron and salt, took the letter from Robb's hands and tossed it over his shoulder. He laughed, just then, and gave a cocky smile. "Well, fuck it. Even if she does end up under the flying banners of the great House Martell, I can rest easy knowing I'm the best fuck she'll ever have. You should have seen it. She sprayed me like a salty wave crashing against a rock." Theon laughed while Robb groaned uncomfortably.

"Why do you always have to make things so vulgar?" asked the young Lord with a roll of his eyes.

"I guess I'm just a vulgar man. We all can't be honor-bound Northerners, can we, Stark?"

It was a jape that was transparent to Robb and Robb alone. Anybody else wouldn't hear the pain in his voice. Sometimes Robb felt as if he knew Theon better than certain members of his own family, especially Sansa. Come to think of it, Sansa would probably be better off in King's Landing with all the other frilly Southern girls. She'll be there where the action is, and there where all the hustle and bustle of the city is. Sansa and Cadenzsa were alike in only one respect: neither belonged in Winterfell.

"I'm sure you'll marry somebody someday," said Robb quietly, figuring the best thing to do now was offer some kind of solace, no matter how well Theon could mask the pain inside.

Theon scoffed through his white teeth. "Everybody will marry somebody someday, Lordling. You will, I will, everybody will. Even smallfolk marry. The only ones that don't marry eventually are cripples, eunichs, Kingsguard, and whores. Gods only know what kind of cow I'll end up with. My brother Rodrik, before he died, was betrothed to someone from House Stonehouse, if I remember. He said she was pretty enough and had huge tits." Theon suddenly laughed out loud at the memory of his elder brother. It had somehow only occurred to Robb just then that Theon had never been the big brother before coming to Winterfell. "You know how they decide who to marry in the Iron Islands?" Young Lord Stark shook his head. "They duel over it. They pay the Iron Price. Gods, were I in the Old World again..."

A scream was suddenly heard muffled from outside. The two men exchanged a look of distress, and all was suddenly forgotten. The young Lordlings hurried down the corridor as fast as their feet would take them, and when they came into the yard, there was a crowd gathered around the bottom of the tower, along with young Summer's frantic barking and whimpering. Robb pushed everyone out of the way, and Theon was close behind. His heart stopped, and in his shock he had to turn around and fall sick to his knees with the eggs and toast he had eaten that same morning come up in a great brown river as he saw the twisted and mangled body of Brandon, his baby brother, his favorite boy, lying broken on the ground of rock and hay and dung below the tower where he'd fallen.

* * *

And we're in the part where the book/show starts, now!

I'd like to remind everyone that this is AU, so I will be changing a few things here and there, to match the story, along with keeping the same fucked-up tragedies that George R. R. Martin has decided to torment my soul with over the past [X] years (i.e. Red Wedding, Ygritte, Reek, fukken Khal Drogo and Dany doing the nasty even though she's ONLY FOURTEEN, YOU SICK PEDOPHILE OLD MAN)... I'm going to be changing things, yes, but it won't be any less tragic. The only TRULY AU-ish part I want to keep for TSSoB is that Cadenzsa exists. This may not SEEM like a huge change, but let's remember that a single grain of rice can tip the scale, and it only takes ONE needle in a haystack for sitting down to be a living Hell.

The wonderful thing about GoT/ASoIaF is that it's so dark and sick and twisted, but at the heart of it you have a story about family and love that holds every fucked up, incestuous bit of it together.

I'm looking forward to writing about Joffrey and Jon and Sansa, so look forward to me adding in some new POVs in the somewhat near future! I will, of course, take polls/requests as to what you'd like to see next in either the comments or private messages.

Also, I know that this is one of the shortest and-let's face it-most boring chapters I've written so far, but there's only so much, creatively, I feel comfortable with changing something we all know and love so much. Sorry, kids. Brandon's now a cripple. Sorry. It's part of the story. And, as Disney has taught us, we can handle a FUCKTON of FUCKED UP SHIT AND DEATH so long as there's a happy ending.

Peace, love, and comments!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Cadenzsa**

* * *

She awoke to a blade across her throat, in the sunny patch of her bed, with the open air flying in from o'er the great Capital. It felt cold and hot all at once against her skin, and the smooth metal of Valyrian steel could end her quite quickly. The blood would spill out all over the pillows and she wouldn't even have a chance to get out from under the blankets before her time ended. Fortunately, today was not the day she was to die. Why was this?

Because, like most Bravos, Cadenzsa slept with a blade under her pillow, which she quickly flicked out and - with a single motion - let it fly away into her father's meaty thigh, which allowed her enough time to roll over and grab the sword at her bedside. Gold-handled with a flourishing, oh-so-Bravosi hand-guard that swelled and flourished and curved in a "C" shape which went from top to bottom on the handle, in the shape of a golden tortoise shell, the name "Cadenzsa" carved into the hilt. Now, why would that be, considering most people name their swords something ferocious or eloquent that is most certainly something other than their own name? Because, like all Dancing Masters, Cadenzsa was a sword. Not a woman, not a man; a sword. She and her sword were one, and as long as Cadenzsa had a good grip on herself, she knew she would be alright.

She assumed the Water Dancer's stance on the other side of the bed.

"You are afraid?" asked her father in the Bravos-tongue as he plucked her dagger from the meat of his thigh. A bit of blood ran down his trouser leg and onto his knee.

"Never," said Cadenzsa in her home language.

"That one should be afraid, for she could have been killed in her sleep."

"Nobody would ever kill Cadenzsa Forel in her sleep."

"And why would that be?"

"The kind of man who would dare challenge me would want me to kneel before he slays me."

"Just so." And her father lunged at her over the bed. Cadenzsa quickly took the sheets and threw them up over his face and stabbed through the fabric. The blade came out clean, so she tumbled over to the side, her night dress tearing slightly at the seam of her shoulder from catching on her knee. The sheets then came towards her like a shadow, and she cut through them before grabbing and swirling them around as a shield. _Clangk-clangk_ went the swords against each other. _Clangk-clak-SWOOSH_ went the swords as Syrio Forel's blade grazed just by Cadenzsa's ear. _Step-step __lunge_ went Cadenza against her father's advance, who parried her thrust.

_Clangk-SWOOSH-clank-clack-THWACK_ went the swords against one another as the Dance heated. Speed was a Water Dancer's greatest strength, for a Water Dancer can get two or even three blows in before a Knight even begins his dance. Cadenzsa was fastest. She wasn't necessarily the strongest - though she was quite strong - but she was the fastest. But her body was built for being strong, for where other girls were slender willows, she was a mighty oak. Her legs were sculpted with muscle, as were her arms, and back, and belly, which was curved and flat all at once.

The wonderful thing about a Dance was that you could think of nothing else as you flipped and struck and thrusted and tumbled. You couldn't think of what color your gown would be for dinner while you were being as swift as a deer, and you certainly couldn't think of which masques you would attend that summer as you were being quick and as deadly as a snake. And while you were those things, you twirled your dancing sword , your opponent was dead, for his sword was down and across the floor with that flick of her wrist. And the silver hairs that began to peek through the black beard of Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos, glimmered in the stream of sunlight that peered through Cadenzsa's bedroom curtain. And he bowed to his daughter.

"I bow to a skill superior than my own."

"You let me win," said Cadenzsa, her sword still pointed.

"I wouldn't slay my own daughter."

"I wouldn't slay my own father."

"So I let you win. The First Sword of Braavos bows to you."

Cadenzsa wanted to smile, but she instead shrugged and lowered her shining blade to her side. She went and threw a dressing gown over her night shift and sat at her vanity.

"It doesn't matter," said Cadenzsa. "It will never matter. Nobody in all of Westeros cares about a woman Dancing. They don't have the First Sword of King's Landing."

"They do, but they are called Knights and Gold Cloaks."

"And no women are allowed."

"No, kitten, no women are allowed." Syrio came from behind and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. "And that's alright. Do you know why this is?" Cadenzsa shook her head. "Because Westeros needs Ladies like you. And this is proof."

In her father's gloved hand she saw a scrolled parchment, the kind that a raven carries. He unfurled it and read aloud in the Commontongue:

"_Syrio,_

_We are to arrive in King's Landing in a fortnight, and if you and your daughter are still there, I should like to see you both. It seems that my Sansa has taken a bit more of Cadenzsa's temper than I thought she would. For when her direwolf Lady's life was threatened, she screamed louder than I thought possible, and took off her sandal and threw it at Prince Joffrey's head, and screamed 'I would rather die than to see my Lady's fur on that spoiled, selfish cow.' They almost ran away in the night with their wolves, but I caught them before they could. I could use your council and my daughters, Arya and Sansa alike, could use your Cadenzsa's, I think. _

_Lord Eddard Stark"_

Cadnezsa could hardly believe it. Sansa? Sweet, perfect little Sansa? Throwing a sandal at the Prince of Westeros? And Cadenzsa thought that Sansa of House Stark of Winterfell becoming the Queen someday was a shocking piece of news!

"A...spoiled, selfish cow?" Cadenzsa began laughing; slowly, at first, but then it grew to a dizzying hysterical cackle that wrenched at her gut from lack of air coming in. Syrio put his arms around his only sweet babe and held tight to her. "I hope Lord Stark's not angry with me..."

"I doubt it is an angry letter." He leaned against her vanity and brushed the wild curls away from her face. "My Cadenzsa will change the world. I always knew she would. But enough. I should congratulate you. For I have found you a Home and a House to keep you. And it is a House that values its mighty women."

Cadenzsa frowned.

"I have brokered a union with House Martell of Dorne. As it turns out...I had saved Prince Doran Martell's life, by introducing him to his wife, many, many years ago."

"What?"

"Mellario Martell, Lady of Dorne, is from Norvos. I studied there for a time, and my uncle knew her father. We were friends for a time. She was almost your mother." Cadenzsa shifted uncomfortably. "When she heard I was searching for a suitable husband for you, she sent word to Prince Doran Martell about it. And now, my starfish, you are to wed her son, Quentyn Martell. And do you know what is so wonderful about Dorne? Not only do they follow _many_ of the Essosi customs, _and_ they play Cyvasse, but if the firstborn of of a Highborn house is a woman, then _she_ will become the new Lady of the House, no matter her gender."

"Oh..."

"Oh? You are not happy?"

"Oh, no, _Papa_, it's not that!" insisted Cadenzsa. "It's just...I've never met Quentyn before. I don't know if I'll like him."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Cadenzsa nodded. "Sometimes, love isn't always about _liking_ the other person."

Cadenzsa laughed. "Don't you like _Maisi_?"

"I love her," said her father. "But that doesn't mean I like her all the time. Sometimes, I can't stand the sight of her. But I love her. So I stay. You may not like him very much when you first meet, but you could fall in love with him at any time. Love is most exciting in that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean love is like a flint. Only the thing that strikes the spark of flame is a lover's touch. And that kind of thing can happen at any time, when you least expect it."

"_Maisi_ says love grows like a tree."

"Your mother is wrong. Love is a fire that burns."

"Fires die," said Cadenzsa flatly.

"Only if you don't feed them." He gently brushed her hair back with a smile. "Do something with your hair, yes? Keep it off your neck today. I hear it will be quite hot in the Capital. And you'll have to get used to it. Dorne is full of hot sun and warm sands. And you'll be living in Sunspear! It is the capital of Dorne, and there is a beautiful palace by the sea called the Water Gardens, which is a mere three leagues away from the city. And you'll have an elder sister, Arianne, who is just as fierce-tempered and wild and adventurous as you. I think you'll be great friends."

Cadenzsa laughed.

"The Dornish even look like you! Curly black hair and dark-skinned. You'll fit right in there. Trust me when I say, this could not be better for you. That one understands what is meant?" Cadenzsa nodded with a smile. "Good. Now get dressed and come have some breakfast. Today, we will enjoy the weather."

"I want to go swimming in the sea later today."

"Later," said Syrio. And with that he left the room, and Darry and Qahari came in.

"Good morning, my Lady," said Darry in the Commontongue.

"Good morning, my Lady!" said Qahari, whose Commontongue was now just as good as Cadenzsa's, but still was heavy with the Free Cities.

Darry held up the shredded sheets. "My Lady, were you Dancing with your father this morning?"

"A little," said Cadenzsa. "Qahari, come and brush my hair. And braid it up today. I want to keep it off my neck."

"Yes, my Lady."

Darry chose a night-sky-colored gown of light silk that hugged her waist. Braavos fashion was something that the Westerosi hadn't seen much of, and Cadenzsa rather liked it. For example, you kept your night-shifts clean and white enough to show through the cuts and peeks of your clothes, which were artfully placed on your arms for extra drama. Rather than sleeves which were slender and tight, the Bravos' were puckered and billowed and pillowed out at your shoulders, and then went tight again until the sleeve ended. Sometimes, it would even flare at two, three, or even four places before it ended. And the skirts would always flare and ruffle out wildly at the waist, just above the hip. It was perfect for Cadenzsa, for it was not only dramatic, but it was roomy enough for her to Dance in it if she needed. Not that the Bravos cared about a woman wearing trousers, of course. If she wanted, she could wear Dancing trousers and leather boots and a tight vest with a flowing cotton shirt. Do the Westerosi care? Only if you're a Highborn, it seemed, which was always a rather stupid idea to Cadenzsa...if you were a Highborn, you could do what you wanted, couldn't you?

That was the funny thing about being a Highborn, wasn't it? You didn't have chains of iron, but chains of silk and smiles and good-natured speech. While the Forels weren't at all Highborn by Westerosi standards, they were still one of the most influential and powerful families in all of Braavos, and therefore one of the most-powerful families in all of the Nine Holds of the Free Cities. They said 'Keeping up with the Forels' there in Braaavos, and it was even whispered throughout the Slaver's Bay. Perhaps they were Highborn? Cadenzsa didn't know. Cadenzsa didn't really know what Highborn meant.

"My Lady," breathed Darry as Cadenzsa felt a hand on her cheek. "Crying again?" When Cadenzsa looked in the mirror, she saw herself wearing a red nose and eyes full of tears that had spilled all down her face without her even noticing. "You must stop. Or at least tell us the reason."

"My Lady, please don't say it's because you are homesick again?" Qahari asked, her deft fingers running soothingly on Cadenzsa's scalp. "With your permission, I think it is because Lady Cadenzsa is heart-sick."

Cadenzsa laughed through her tear-stained face and held onto Qahari's hand. Their fingers twined in the mess of her ebon curls. "I think the term is 'lovesick.'"

Darry, ever the loving and faithful friend, knelt at Cadenzsa's feet and held onto her other hand. "It is Lord Greyjoy, isn't it?"

Cadenzsa quickly shook her head. "I don't want to think about him. It's been nearly four months. I shouldn't be thinking about him, anyway. He's probably forgotten all about me by now and is in the arms of some Northern whore."

"My Lady, nobody could ever forget you," said Darry. "And I'm sure that Lord Greyjoy still thinks of you often."

"Probably while he pumps his cock..." The Braavosi Lady shrugged with a sad smirk and said "Even if he did, it's not like it matters now, does it? You heard my father; I'm going to be playing Cyvasse in Dorne before the month is up."

It was an excuse, really, to use her future travel plans and Theon's theoretical apathy towards her memory to divert her own feelings. An excuse, by definition of Cadenzsa's understanding of the Westerosi Commontongue, was a lie you told yourself to keep from dealing with an unpleasant truth. The worst thing about this kind of lie, though, was that she didn't know if it was a real one or not. She had no idea if he'd forgotten her or not. Cadenzsa only knew that she hadn't heard from or of him in that six month period. And, when Lord Stark came riding to King's Landing with his two daughters in tow, along with the royal family, the last thing she was going to do was ask about how his Ward was doing before asking of the well-being of his sons.

Cadenzsa had indeed thought about marrying Robb Stark for a moment, even if it was only a fleeting thought, when she was in Winterfell. Her father even might have seen what he could have done about it, should Cadenzsa have chosen to love Robb instead of Theon, considering that they had been such good friends. Yes, Cadenzsa could have convinced anyone in that castle that the two of them should marry quite easily. Stark and Forel joining Houses? Surely, they could benefit from something across the Narrow Seas. Their wealth, for one, was a great thing that they could offer to the Starks. Another was their affluence in the Free Cities, and their ships, should they need them for any reason. Cadenzsa's skill as a Master-at-Arms could easily aid the Stark's armies, as well, weren't the Westerosi so backwards and closed-minded. The Northerners weren't ready for Cadenzsa, is all; at least, that's the excuse she told herself.

The real reason Cadenzsa didn't scheme to marry Robb Stark was also the real reason she _wanted_ to marry Robb Stark: being close to Theon.

At the end of the day, Cadenzsa knew herself too well. She'd try to be with Robb and end up sneaking into Theon's bedchambers at night. She would not complain about him being far away or marching off to war, so long as she could ask that Lord Greyjoy be by her side to protect her from...any intruders into her bed while her husband was away. But she would lure him to her, like the brightest flower lures the hummingbird, or the honeybees, and he would drink of her honey any time she pleased him to. And so in love with Theon was she that she promised herself the only way she could be with him was to wed him while he lived free, on his own, in the place of his home. And so affectionate of Robb, sweet Robb, was she that she promised herself that he deserved her utmost respect and friendship. He was too good of a man to be with a woman like Cadenzsa. He needed some blushing Maid of the North to be his Lady, not the sadder-yet-wiser girl from the Free Cities.

The next thing Cadenzsa knew, she was alone, lying on her side, on the sun-warmed stone floor, clutching the dung-spattered cloak of Theon Greyjoy, which she kept in secret under her bed. She didn't know really where Darry or Qahari were, but considering she was fully-dressed, now, and her hair had been braided, she guessed that she had dismissed them while she decided to have a moment of hysterics on her bedroom floor, like some emotionally-disturbed dumb child. She only cared for a moment, then she went back to burying her face in the fur collar that had once brushed against the back of his pale neck.

She thought about burning that fucking cloak hundreds of times. She thought about burying the damn thing thousands of times, too, and she couldn't even begin to count how many times she had contemplated throwing it into the sea, for it must have been well-over a million. But she never did; she just folded it up and stowed it under her bed, and took it out again whenever she missed him. She would lie in it, and hold it, and breathe deep the vapor of his sweat, and his horse's dung, and the smell of wine and leather. She would pretend that it was his arms wrapping around her, instead of the silk-and-fur-lined leather cloak's fabric. The truly sick thing about it all was that she hadn't even grieved this much over Qavo, poor, beloved Qavo, and he had been dead nearly two years, and with whom she'd been in love for nearly three(that is, well, if you _can_ be in love with a corpse). She couldn't even bring herself to shed a tear over Qavo, nowadays, not since the Faceless Men...

Well, she wasn't crying over Qavo this time; she was crying over Theon. It's funny, though, isn't it, how your mind works? You start crying over one lost love, you begin to think about every single lost love you've ever had, and just how many tears you have shed over them, too. Perhaps the mind is defending itself against the heart, she wondered. Perhaps the mind makes you sad all at once so your heart cries out every tear you have left in your body. That way, when the time to cry is most inappropriate, you don't have any tears left. With all the tears she had cried over Theon, she imagined she could have filled a deep sea, and when she imagined that sea, she imagined Theon coming in on that ship of black sails to come and rescue her. He never rescued her from anything terribly dangerous in her fantasies, though. In her fantasies, Cadenzsa was alone. Not in danger, not dying, just alone, until Theon came to save her.

It sickened her, the thing she had become. She was the only thing that could truly save her, and if life had taught her anything, it was that there was no such thing as a Knight in Shining Armor or a Handsome Prince coming to save you and solve all of your problems. The only Handsome Prince you ever needed was the one that you became when you took action and decided to control your own fate. It truly was sickening, the way she thought of him, she thought, as she walked through King's Landing, buying up local produce and fish, holding onto her father's arm and smiling as genuinely as her face would allow her to while her heart was screaming out like a damn harpy from within. It turns out that she was good at lying, even though she hated it, for her father didn't say anything about how much damn time she spent in her room nowadays; or perhaps he did notice and was too polite to ask. No, that probably wasn't it; _Papa_ wasn't really that polite.

"Like some dates, Cadenzsa?" He was holding a plate of dates in front of her; she guessed they had stopped in front of a merchant's stall. The arms of their servants were already full of parcels.

"Hm? Oh, yes, please."

"Cadenzsa."

"Yes, _Papa_?"

"You hate dates."

"Oh." She put the date down back on the pile, where the merchant had mounded them on a ceramic platter. Syrio paid the man for the dried figs and nuts they had bought and continued walking. Cadenzsa felt his eyes on her, and felt the uncomfortable truth of her unhappiness about to come to light in her father's eyes. "Yes, _Papa_?"

"It's unhealthy to keep secrets."

She gulped, but kept her eyes forward. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't be coy," said her father. "Tell _Papa_ why you're unhappy. He will make it better."

"Who said I'm unhappy?" Her voice cracked, even though she was smiling.

"_You_ said you were unhappy with the way you sob yourself to sleep. And I can hear you pacing back and forth in your room at all hours of the night. You know you've been acting this way ever since you've left Winterfell. It's only gotten worse with each passing day. Now either tell me what's wrong or stop doing it, because I won't allow you to in Dorne."

Cadenzsa didn't look at him, but looked around at the market at the stalls. They were getting close to their house, now. Cadenzsa didn't want to talk about it. She just wanted to go swimming.

"Cadenzsa..."

"I'm just homesick, that's all." A beat. They stopped in front of their modest manse in King's Landing. It was a hovel in comparison to the Isle of Flowers, but it would do for the short time they were there. "I miss _Gran_. I want to go back home."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't miss _Gran_? Or No, I don't want to go back home?" Cadenzsa let go of his arm and walked inside, parting the doors and walking through their tiny stone courtyard. A Dancing Sword came flying with the fury of a God and stuck into the wall just in front of her like one of Theon's arrows. Cadenzsa turned around in shock.

"You would be showing more respect when your _Papa_ tells you something." Cadenzsa furiously pulled the sword from the crumbling mortar and tossed it at her father, drawing her own. "Is it because of something that happened in Winterfell? Someone was unkind to you?" Cadenzsa struck angrily; her father parried. "Oh, no, it must have been the other way. Cadenzsa never cries when an unkindness happens to her; she spits in their face." Cadenzsa thrusted and struck-struck-struck again, but her father parried all four of them. Her hair began to come out of her pretty braids. "So someone there was particularly kind to you. And you miss them. You miss _him_." Cadenzsa almost screamed when she struck against her father's blade, and all of the servants had quickly disappeared inside the house for fear of the fury of the Dancing Masters' swords. "But there were two of them, Lord Stark's boys...do you miss Robb or Jon?" Her strikes became more deadly, more precise. And each spin and twirl in the Water Dancing stance became more calculated. "Neither of them? Then who...?" Cadenzsa backed away, keeping her sword up high, her hand beginning to shake. "The Ward?" Cadenzsa's eyes became hazy with fury. "The Archer? Balon Greyjoy's boy?"

"I do not miss a _boy_!" Cadenzsa shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her father advanced, and with a mere five moves, he knocked the sword out of Cadenzsa's bleeding hand. She watched her blood drip off her skin, onto the ground, the drops shattering into many pieces like broken dishes. Her sword was on the ground, far away, and she knew that the Dance was over, for if that had happened to her with anyone other than her father, she would be dead. There was no point in fighting anymore. She crumbled on the ground in tears.

But instead of the anger she had expected, or the scolding she had braced for, her father came and wrapped his gloved hand on Cadenzsa's wound. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked with genuine concern. "_Papa_ would have made it better."

"By doing what? You cannot change the situation, nor can you change the past. If Theon was still on the Iron Islands and still a Lord on his own lands, that would be one thing. But he's a hostage."

"Theon is an honored guest of the North, much like you were-"

"Theon is a hostage for his father's good behavior! If his father rises in revolt again, Eddard Stark will cut off Theon's head! Do you think Lord Stark would have done that to me? Theon is a Rabble in a throng of Elephants and Dragons and Kings!" Cadenzsa was almost frightened at the sound of her own voice, for it was shrill and panicked and much louder than she had initially intended. When her father stood above her and offered his hand to her, and she realized that she was throwing a tantrum on the ground like a child, she became rather embarrassed and got up. She ran away, and her father did not stop her.

Cadenzsa went to the sea later that evening and threw Theon Greyjoy's cloak off the side of her rowboat and into the waves off of King's Landing's bay. She watched the heavy leather and fur and chain sink into the black water, and she kept her vow of not screaming or crying over it. She imagined herself sinking into the water and the ocean swallowing her whole. She imagined the current carrying it far to the Summer Isles, or maybe - by some miracle or grace of the Gods - it would find its way back to the Iron Islands. Maybe then Theon could have a piece of him that was free?

She wondered why she cared so much, as she rowed back to the shores. After a long walk through King's Landing's winding roads and a few fisticuffs in the streets with some local ruffians, she felt a little better, but only a little. She didn't cry until she got back to the safety of her bedchambers, and when she did it was only on the inside. It seemed that she had run out of tears for Theon, much like she had run out of tears for Qavo some years back. She felt some relief when she didn't cry, for she hoped that it meant she wouldn't ever cry again over Theon; those hopes were dashed when she wrapped her fur coverings from her bed around her shoulders and attempted to rock herself to sleep, and all she wanted to do was cry so she could fill the emptiness within her with the salt of her tearless eyes.

Cadenzsa tried everything; singing to herself, Dancing in the middle of the night, but nothing helped. Cadenzsa didn't cry at all, even when she cut herself on accident or spent her time in the kitchens watching the cooks cut onions. She wanted to cry, but it seemed that as her bitterness grew, her vowing to keep her eyes free of tears for Theon Greyjoy had turned into a dark and terrible curse, which was pending and quiet and horrifying, for its death was one where she must live through the horrors of it. It was a curse of emptiness, where no sadness was felt, and no tears were shed, but she walked around like a phantom of her former self, and while her body knew the Water Dance even without her soul in it, she felt her heart cased in stone try to beat for the thing that once brought her such joy. Cadenzsa couldn't flip and tumble anymore, and she couldn't fly or smile while she danced. Cadenzsa's emptiness consumed her, and she feared - or at least _would_ have feared it, could she feel anything at all - that she would never shed another tear for the rest of her days.

She wanted, on that day when she came to the tower of the Hand to see Sansa and Arya, to instead run into the sea and swim until she found Theon's cloak, and then break the curse she'd put on herself, but she knew that it was probably halfway to the bottom of the Summer Sea by then, and that she would just have to deal with the fact that she would never shed another tear as long as she lived, which - if you thought about it - was very good. If her new Dornish husband never saw her cry, he would never think she was unhappy.

* * *

Feelz. Emo. Stabby-rip stab-stab. This was a short chapter, and I know it, but that's okay! Because we're going to be that way for awhile. Know why? KNOW WHY?

Because I'll be entering in NEW POVs throughout! Sure, you'll still see Theon, but you'll also see Arya and Sansa and, of course, more Cadenzsa!

Oh, don't worry, you'll see Jon and Robb and Theon, too! But you'll get a more fleshed-out ASOIAF world in here, as best as I can, while working a full-time job! Sansa's up next for this POV, so expect it soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Sansa**

* * *

Sansa was barely speaking to her father, for she was rather furious at him, and uncharacteristically so. She tried to be as polite as she could towards him and her Septa, but it seemed that she and Arya had formed a strange alliance which had never been forged before. Arya was stabbing the table quite furiously with her dinner knife.

Septa Mordane protested, of course, and Lady was safe under the table, missing Nymeria at her side. Sansa was afraid for Lady's life, for how much longer could the Queen hold her tongue? Her father said that Queen Cersei would do as the King commanded, like a good wife should do, and since the King had declared the Stark girls' story to be true instead of Joffrey's, no harm would come to Sansa _or_ Lady. But Nymeria was gone, and Arya was mad beyond belief over it. Sansa didn't blame her; Sansa felt sorry for her, for the very first time. And she was furious with her father, for the very first time, that he didn't do anything.

Sansa felt alone in the Small Hall of the Tower of the Hand, and though her father was sitting next to her, she didn't feel like he was. He smiled at her, though, and touched her hand. "I have a surprise for the two of you, today," said her father.

The girls glanced up, but didn't say anything. Both of them were in a strange alliance of silence against their father.

"Arya, what are you doing?" her father asked Arya.

"I'm practicing," she sneered.

"For what?"

"The prince!" shouted Arya.

"You may stop that and eat like a young Lady," said Septa Mordane, which caused Arya to throw her knife on the floor and stomp out. She didn't get very far, though, when a pair of dark arms circled around her and a great laugh came. Sansa turned around in her chair to see a familiar face.

It was Lady Forel, all dressed in a beautiful Southern gown of island blue and gold trim on the sleeves with all sorts of pattern of swirling waves like the sea. She laughed heartily as Arya gasped and her eyes went wide. Arya squealed in glee and jumped into Lady Forel's arms, and Lady Forel swung her around til her feet flew in the air.

"Oh, my sweet girl! I have missed you so much!" Her voice! Lady Forel had lost her Free Cities accent and now spoke in a Westerosi tone. And she sounded beautiful, like the voice a soft brooke might have. And her hair was pinned in beautiful gold pins and flowing long in curls. Sansa looked at her father, who smiled at her in a knowing way. When Sansa looked back, Lady Forel smiled at Sansa when she and Arya had stopped turning. "Sansa!" said Lady Forel. "Just look how beautiful you've become since last I saw you! I've lost my accent, as you can see." A wave of torrid tears suddenly came over her, and Sansa bolted from the table and into Lady Forel's arms, burying her face in her black hair at the curve of her neck. Out of shock, Lady Forel held onto Sansa's shaking shoulders and spoke again in her Free City voice. "Sweet girl, if it bothers you so much I shall go back to talking like this!"

Sansa felt as if her life was over. She missed her Lady mother, and she feared for Joffrey's lack of affection for her. Surely, after everything, he hated her, and she was surely going to be sent back to Winterfell with her tail between her legs. Sansa was so afraid and frustrated, all she wanted to do was scream, but her Septa had taught her too well against screaming and throwing tantrums. Suddenly, she'd turned into a woman she hadn't recognized before, and she didn't know what to do.

"Lady Forel," she heard Arya whine.

"I'll see you in a moment, sweet girl. I think your sister and I need a chat in private." And Lady Forel wrapped her tan arm around Sansa and lead her away down the Hall and out into the garden. She had no kerchiefs, so she used a tendril of her lovely black hair to wipe Sansa's wet face. Her hair smelled of jasmine flowers and sunshine and sea air. As Sansa leaned her head against her shoulder, she felt her heart calm. "I heard a rather strange something about you and Prince Joffrey..." Sansa's eyes went wide; she knew of Lady Forel's temper quite well, for it seemed so great that it had rubbed off on her. But she smiled, instead, and said: "He found out what you're made of."

Sansa gulped. Lady Forel smiled and brushed a lock of her copper-colored hair behind her ear.

"So, what really happened?" They came and sat on one of the alabaster benches. Sansa then noticed that Lady had trailed behind them, and sat at Lady Forel's feet. She gently caressed Lady's snout and then scratched behind her ears.

"They said they were going to kill Lady as punishment...but she was innocent! She didn't bite the Prince! She didn't do anything!"

"Calm down, my songbird, nobody said that she did." The Braavosi squeezed Sansa's pale hand. "So it was Arya's wolf that bit the Prince?"

"She ran away. We tried to find her, but Nymeria got away."

"Good thing she did," said Lady Forel. "Otherwise she would have met a rather nasty fate. Why did she bite the Prince?"

Sansa began to tremble. "Because he attacked Arya." Her own voice was so tiny, so quiet, she didn't know if she really spoke it or thought it. "He was drunk."

Lady Forel laughed. "There should be an age limit on when a man can drink," she said with a toothy grin. Sansa began to sob again. "Now, now, no crying, my songbird. Look at what a terrible face you make when you cry!"

"I don't care!" Sansa mewled, crumbling into her strong arms. She cradled her and rocked her back and forth, and sang a pretty song from Braavos, one of the ones about love she knew so well. She loved hearing Lady Forel sing, and the memories of them together in Winterfell was the only thing that brought her enough comfort to breathe.

"Now, now, Sansa, you must tell me why you are crying. Are you afraid?" Sansa didn't say anything. "Are you angry?" Sansa looked up, confused. "I cry when I'm angry, sometimes. I get so angry that I can't even form words to scream, so I just end up crying." Lady Forel then laughed and wiped away her tears with her long hair. "Just tell me what's on your mind."

"Joffrey hates me!" sobbed Sansa. "He'll hate me forever for what I did! I threw my sandal at him! I'm so ashamed! I'm humiliated! And I've got nobody but myself to blame for it all!"

Lady Forel laughed. "Well, _I_ couldn't be more proud of you for doing what you did. But I must tell you that I don't think he hates you; I think _he's_ more humiliated than you are. It's better to run a dagger through a man's eye than to bruise his pride." Sansa wasn't sure what to do, but she wiped her eyes anyway. "From what I understand, Prince Joffrey is growing up in the shadow of the great conqueror Robert Baratheon, a man who has made Seven Kingdoms bow to him in only a few short years, despite the Targaryen legacy which had gone back so many centuries. The boy has large shoes to fill, so any bruise against his growing man's pride will sting quite hard. But don't despair over it by any means, because he knows now you're not to be trifled with. Like I said, he found out what you're made of." She winked.

Sansa smiled. "So did I," she whispered, her hands shaking. Lady Forel then began laughing and wrapped her arms around Sansa's shoulders tight. She smelled so sweet and wonderful, and Sansa's tears stopped. She sighed contentedly and leaned her head into her chest. "I'm so happy to see you, Lady Forel," she said.

"I'm happy to see you too, Sansa."

She laughed, in spite of everything. "Lady Forel, please tell me that you'll be at the Tourney tomorrow? It would mean everything to me if you were to come. I'll ask my father so we can have seats together! And we can sit together and watch the joust."

She nodded. "I'll be there. I can take a break from packing my things, anyway."

Sansa frowned in confusion. "Packing?"

Lady Forel nodded. "I'm sailing to Dorne in two weeks. I'm to join House Martell by marriage of Prince Quentyn. By the end of next month, I'll be Princess Cadenzsa Martell. That has a ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Oh..."

A beat. "What, no congratulations?"

"Pardon, milady! Of course I should congratulate you. I'm sure you'll be very happy there..."

"You wish I would marry Robb, too, don't you?" Sansa's voice got caught in her throat. "Truth?"

"Well," she mumbled softly, "if you were to be up in Winterfell..." A beat. "It's just that I've never had an elder sister before. I've always wanted one."

"And how would it help you if I were going to be up in Winterfell while you're down here being in King's Landing as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?" There was a long pause. "Besides, I don't think Robb likes me that way."

"But of course he does, milady!" Sansa insisted. "All he could do while you were there was talk about you! I truly thought that he would ask for your hand while you stayed with us."

The Braavosi laughed like a waterfall tripping over itself. "Oh, Sansa, Robb and I would never work together. Besides, he's got to marry another Northerner from one of the many Houses of Westeros before he could even consider me. He's too bound by duty to do that, and we both understand. But I do care deeply for him, I will have you know, and I shall owe him a great kindness when the time comes." She stroked Sansa's copper-red hair gently. "Now, now, don't look so disheartened about it. Or is that not what's wrong?"

Sansa swallowed hard, for her mouth felt rather dry. Lady came and sat with her back against her on her haunches and waited for a scratch or two from Sansa's hand. "What if the King sends me back to Winterfell? What if he thinks I'm not good enough to be Joffrey's Queen?"

"I think your father will think you're _too _good to be Joffrey's Queen." Sansa felt another stream of tears run down her face, and Lady Forel wiped them away again. She wished in that moment more than anything that she would forsake Dorne and go back to Winterfell _with_ her, so she could be home with an elder sister, who would sing songs with her and read poetry with her, and have babies that Sansa could play with. Lady Forel smiled and leaned back on the bench, wrapping an arm around Sansa's shoulders. "Listen, you mustn't let them see you're afraid. I don't know how things are done here in Westeros, so I won't be much help. But you know how things are done here, and I think you'll do well in a place like King's Landing."

"I'm so confused about everything. I'm torn between my love for Joffrey and what a horrible person he turned out to be. He said that-!"

"-I know, sweet girl, I know. But you mustn't let anyone hear you saying such things, hm? If the wrong person were to hear you say those things..."

"But you're not the wrong person, are you, Lady Forel?" She gave a smirk and shook her head. "I trust you." And she leaned her forehead into the crook of her neck. She smelled like flowers and salt, like when a garden sat on the cliffs of the sea, where the salt and spray came flying up like a thousand tiny birds. "My heart feels as if it's going to burst. I've never been in love before. It's so confusing... Have you ever been in love, Lady Forel? Ever once?"

There was a very long pause. "Twice, I think. But it was probably just the once." Sansa pulled away in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Her brown eyes went far away, and looked over the horizon. "I was sixteen, maybe a little younger. I went to Volantis for the first time, and met a handsome Volanteen about my age, called Qavo. He was dark-skinned and had chestnut-colored hair, and his eyes were queerly pale and green, much like sea foam on a very clear day. But his teeth were white and pretty, and he was tall, and his nose had a bump in it from when he broke it as a child." She then laughed, and turned to Sansa. "I loved him more than I could possibly say."

"Then what happened?" Sansa's eyebrows tilted up in worry, and their fingers twined together. "Did your father dislike him?"

She shook her head. "It's a very long story, songbird."

"Please tell me?"

"It's not a happy story. You might end up crying."

"Does it pain you to think about it?"

Lady Forel shook her head again. "Not anymore, no. I haven't cried over it in quite some time. But there was a time where I cried every night and day over it." The thought horrified Sansa, for Lady Forel was one of the mightiest women she'd ever met, and such a thing to bring tears to a mighty heart such as hers must have been the tragedy of tragedies.

"Please?" begged Sansa after a pregnant silence.

Lady Forel then laughed and smiled and continued her sad story of love. "When I came back to Braavos, Qavo came with me. I remember he was wearing a shirt that was bright orange when he came to the Sealord's Palace with me. He planned to ask my father for my hand in marriage. I went in first to speak with my father, who was still serving as the First Sword of Braavos. But I found out that the Sealord of Braavos had fallen ill that week, and he died that same afternoon. I wasn't surprised, for he was quite old, and my father served him well for those nine years. Two weeks later, the new Sealord was proclaimed, and my father..." She trailed off. "Well, the Sealord had known my father for many years; he had watched me grow up. He summoned me to his Palace, alone, one day, and told me that - out of every woman in Braavos - he had chosen me to be his wife. I was appalled at the thought, and I'm sure the Westerosi would think me mad to refuse, but the Free Cities are different places. To make the long story short, I said 'no'. I made the mistake of telling him that it was because I was in love with someone else..." She looked for a moment as if she might cry, but no tears came. "I thought that my family would be happy for me. My father was the only one that told the Sealord 'no' to his proposal, which ultimately caused our family to cut us off, and my father was First Sword of Braavos no more. Three days later, Qavo was dead, by the hand of the Faceless Men, a deadly assassin guild of the legendary guild in Braavos. I must have just missed the assassin, for his body was still warm when I found it, lying face down in that alley with a poison dart in his neck." She then shook her head. "I saw him, a year later, walking around. But it wasn't him. A Faceless Man had taken his face off and was using it for their nefarious deeds. My Qavo of Volantis was now a mere shadow, a beautiful lie and painful truth, a Faceless man, a mask of death. They used their foul magic to carve his beautiful face off his flesh and use it for their own."

"My Lady..." Tears formed in Sansa's eyes. It was a tragedy fitting of any song. Lady came and licked the top of her copper-colored hand and nuzzled against her lap. The Braavosi smiled and scratched behind her ear. "Would the Sealord do such a thing to you? To one of his people he has sworn to protect?"

"Jealousy can drive a man to madness, sweet girl. You must remember that. He would be the only one that could afford a Faceless Man against Qavo's life." She then shrugged with a sad smile. "But it didn't matter. I couldn't prove it was him. And even if I could, it wouldn't matter. No matter what I did, my Qavo would still be dead, and there would be nothing I could do to save him from that terrible fate. But he was my first love, and I shall cherish the memories of him forever. It turns out, though, that your first love is never the real thing. Your first love is like a brilliant comet, or a shooting star that passes in the night sky of your life. It's beautiful, and for the moment it happens it makes your heart sing. But life will show you that your first love won't always last, and you're probably better off for it. You see, when the real thing happens..." She shook her head and looked far away. Sansa gripped onto her wrist and leaned her head against her shoulder to listen in. Lady set her large head in her lap. "True Love is nothing like the songs. When the real thing happens, you don't actually know what it is, only because it's the most frightening and powerful thing you've ever felt, and it's so great a feeling that you think you might die. It burns within you. Like a fire; like a sudden summer storm inside of you, you can't ignore it, no matter how you try. It will hurt, of course, but just as much as it will cause you pain, it will bring you a joy that will take you to another world." Sansa felt a grin growing on her face.

"Like the songs?" she breathed dreamily.

"Much better than the songs," laughed Lady Forel, pinching Sansa on the cheek playfully. "It makes you feel like writing your own songs about your love, and eventually you might, but you know you shouldn't, only because you probably can't even begin to touch the evocation of what this powerful feeling is. Sometimes, when I feel it, it overwhelms me. You have to become numb to it, in a way, because if your heart really felt the way it truly did, it would kill you. And when the wind is warm and the crickets sing, you lose hours thinking how yours is a love that time will lie down and be still for."

"That's so romantic!" swooned Sansa. "Like your Knight in Shining Armor?"

"More like my handsome Prince..."

"Is he handsome?"

She burst out laughing. "He's Westerosi. I've never seen any man like him before. The men of Braavos are... Well, he's not like them. His hair is... Well, his _skin_ is all pink and smooth and hairless, like a baby's..." She laughed again. "He's quite lovely to look at as far as the Westerosi go, I'm sure, but I think he's positively funny-looking. But something about his eyes will be watching me always. They're the color of the warm sea waters after a storm. And his smile lights up the darkness like the sun breaking into the dawn. I'll never forget the moment we met. It was as if I was suddenly no longer alone, and with that smile he ushered in the World that was suddenly open and wide and waiting for me."

"Oh, milady Forel, who is he?"

She smiled a toothy grin and shook her head, her hair letting off that beautiful jasmine-flower scent. "It doesn't matter."

Sansa's face fell. "Oh, but it _does_ matter, milady! Of course it matters! If it's real, true love, then it matters more than anything else in the world! You've got to hold onto it!"

"My sweet, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. When I was a Braavosi, I might have stormed in and stolen him away, and we might have sailed far across the Narrow Sea together to live out our life as an adventure. But I cannot be a Braavosi and be safe from the Sealord's wrath at the same time. I'm a Westerosi now, and Westerosi women wed them who their fathers tell them to." She sighed. "I'm sure I'll be happy in Dorne. It will be warm and sunny all winter long there, and I hear Prince Quentyn Martell is a capable warrior. I'm sure we will learn much about each other, and we'll have lots to talk about. I'll have an elder sister there, and a younger brother, too. I'll have a family there."

"But what of your love, milady?"

"My father said that love is like a fire that only dies if you don't feed it. I don't know if it will ever truly die, but I think I'll just learn to live with it. As long as he's happy and he ends up with a good life, I can be content with that. Love is selfless in that way, don't you think?"

Sansa didn't want to accept it. The harsh realities of the world were coming to be far too horrible for her innocent heart to bear. She grasped her hand, as if it was a tree branch sticking out of a cliff she was dangling from. If Lady Forel, who was so brave and wonderful and beautiful, didn't get a happy ending, then what hope was there for Sansa? "But what does your Love think, milady? Doesn't he feel the same way about you?"

"He feels, I think, probably stronger than me, if that was possible. His heart is much greater than mine, for it can bear a greater sorrow, and therefore a greater happiness. He is much braver than me, too, and I'm sure felt more afraid when we parted than he was willing to show. But I know of his love for me, for he was the only one of us that was brave enough to say anything about it." She frowned for a moment, but then shrugged and smiled. "I think that he and I are a shade too practical to ever really do anything about our love, now. He said he would come and get me someday, of all things. He tore off his cloak and threw it around my shoulders, and said I belonged to his House first. Then he told me that he would someday find me again, and steal me away forever. Until then, I suppose I could wait, but the Gods only know when that will be that I'll see him again. It could be hours, for he could be on his way down here now. It could also be days, or years, or even decades. It could be centuries, and I could be dead before he comes to my side again, all old and gray and withered, watching my corpse drift away with those still-brilliant blue-green eyes."

"He'll come for you, milady! You mustn't give up hope!" insisted Sansa.

"He might," said Lady Forel, "but he's got until the end of next week to get here and sweep me off my feet, otherwise I'm sailing off to Dorne and marrying Prince Quentyn."

* * *

Okay, so a LOT of things are revealed about Cadenzsa's past, and now we delve deeper into the changes in Sansa's character. Seems that she's gotten a bit of the wolf blood in her awakened by seeing a strong Lady with a stronger voice? HOW AWESOME?! LADY IS ALIVE! In fact, I am having NO Direwolves die in this story, at all. Or The Grey Lady. Or The Stallion Who Will Mount the World(WiP). NO DEAD DIREWOLVES. Lots of dead people, of course, but I'm not killing animals. At all. It's too fucked up.

Anyway, I'm continuing on with TSSoB and TGL as best as I can with a full-time job and me constantly being either hungry or exhausted. This chapter was much shorter than my other ones, but Sansa's kind of hard to write for. Oh well.

Message me/comment/review/whatever with any ideas or things you'd like to see, such as character POV requests and plotline requests! I do enjoy a good input here and there.

LOVE! R&R!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Theon**

* * *

"I don't believe it..."

Theon looked up from the table. Robb's hands were shaking. Maester Luwin looked rather solemnly, and then looked to him. Theon frowned and craned his neck to see the Raven.

"What is it?" Theon finally asked. Robb sat down. He gulped.

"My father wants to broker an alliance with House Greyjoy..." Robb's voice was quiet, cracking. "He says that Prince Joffrey is..." He gulped and looked to the Ironborn. "My father wants to wed you to Sansa."

Theon stood up so fast that, were Robb not sitting on it, he would have knocked the thing clean over. "Has he lost his damn head?"

"Theon Greyjoy, mind your tongue!" said Maester Luwin. "Lord Stark's judgement-"

"-Is _severely_ impaired if he thinks that wedding Theon to Sansa is a good idea!" said Robb then.

"What about the Prince? What about the alliance with House Baratheon?" asked in the young Ironborn Lord.

Maester Luwin sighed. "Lord Stark believes that it is time to reforge an alliance with the Greyjoys of the Iron Islands, in hopes of bringing further peace to the Seven Kingdoms. And since he has raised Theon Greyjoy amongst his own, he knows the kind of man he is. An _honorable_ man." Maester Luwin emphasized the word 'honorable' far too much, and while Sansa was a very pretty girl, to Theon she was just a babe. And the sister of his closest friend? How could he? "The long and short of it is that Lord Stark does not feel that Prince Joffrey Baratheon is a proper match for Lady Sansa, but wishes to remain quiet about it. Should Lord Balon Greyjoy accept the terms, of course, that means that Theon will now become Lord of the Iron Islands and Sansa his Lady, and they shall reign there."

Theon's heart raced. Going home? Finally? After ten years?

"Why?" asked Robb.

"Balon Greyjoy is not a trustworthy ally, but Theon, said Lord Stark, is. We had not yet sent word to the Iron Islands, as Lord Stark's every move as Hand of the King is watched. Theon, should you accept these terms, we will inform your father, and arrange for your return to Pyke. And then your father will take this matter to the King. Perhaps Arya will wed Prince Tommen, someday." Maester Luwin's words were calculated, precise. They cut into Theon like a kind of hot knife. The thought of going home...seeing his family again...being on the sea, with his mother and father and sister. And all he had to do was marry Sansa!

"I cannot," said Theon. Robb and Maester Luwin looked up. "Write back to Lord Stark telling him that I cannot accept these terms. Tell Sansa to be Queen. She was meant for it."

Robb knew. Maester Luwin did not. His face was most impatient and stern. "Theon Greyjoy, you have-"

"-I cannot and I _will_ not wed Sansa Stark. I have promised myself to one woman, and one woman alone, and that is Lady Cadenzsa Forel of Braavos."

A dumbstruck beat for everyone in the room. "And I take it that she's working in a brothel, now?" japed Maester Luwin.

It struck like a kick in the guts. But Robb stood with that Stark commanding presence and said "Maester Luwin, how dare you question the honor and virtue of Lady Cadenzsa Forel!"

The Maester bowed his head, his dark eyes darting around a bit. "Mi'Lord, Lady Cadenzsa Forel is very far away, set for King's Landing since last we heard. She won't do well here, and didn't do well here. She is not a Stark, and she's not a Lady of Winterfell. You can't expect to keep her here as your Ward's wife and have her be happy with that life. She comes from great wealth and freedom in Braavos. It would be cruel to keep her here."

"She gave me her word of faithfulness," said Theon, whose deft fingers pulled beneath his leathers and slipped the chain and pendant of his beloved's out from under the dreary brown colors of Winterfell. The aquamarine that was in place of the turtle's shell sparkled and threw diamonds of light all around the Hall's gray-colored stone floors and brick walls. "And she gave me her pendant as a sign of that token. Ask her, and she will tell you, that she is mine first."

"And you really think her father would allow that sort of thing?" asked Maester Luwin. Theon sank into the bench. "Master Forel is not-likely to have his only child live here as a Ward's wife for the rest of her days, and certainly not after she's lived in a Palace for half her days."

"I am the Lord of Winterfell," barked Robb with a fury and power in his voice that rivalled any King's. "And I say that should Lady Forel wish to come here while we find another way to broker an alliance with House Greyjoy, so that Theon will be the reigning Lord of the Iron Islands with her at his side, she is more than welcome to do so. Or even so, if Theon's father is truly so untrustworthy, then have Master Syrio Forel take him to Braavos to be with Cadenzsa. They are good friends of the Starks, are they not?"

"I must advise _extremely strongly_ against this, my Lord, it will lead to nothing but ruin."

"You may advise against it all you like, Maester Luwin, but you'll send a Raven to my father telling him that Theon and Lady Forel should be free to wed if they want to. And send a Raven to Sansa, telling her to be strong, for our mother rides for King's Landing as we speak, and she will be with her soon. If my mother and father find the Prince improper, then they should have thought of that before they said 'yes', shouldn't they?"

"You would dare speak ill of your Lady Mother and Father?" asked Maester Luwin.

"He wouldn't ever speak ill of his parents," said Theon. "Sansa will be a good Queen with a fair hand. And she'll smile and go to all the Tourney's and host all of the masques and feasts. She should just show that Prince who's boss. Sansa is a sweet and pretty little girl, and with both Lord and Lady Stark at her council, she'll be fine. But I'm not spoiling that chance for her to rule."

Maester Luwin left, not peacefully, but left. Theon's heart was going a hundred miles a moment. Truth be told, he felt his skin was the only thing keeping him from going everywhere at once. He felt Robb's hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see his friend smiling shyly at him. Robb took his seat next to him.

"You know you didn't have to do that," said Theon, suddenly realizing the whole weight of the situation.

"Yes, I did. My father taught me to be a good Lord, and a fair one, at that. And you are my closest friend..." There was a pause, and Robb swallowed a little harder than perhaps he intended to. "And I want you to be happy. One should wed them they love. And you love Cadenzsa." There was a longer pause. "She'll come, Theon. We'll make it nice for her. We'll find somebody who knows all about Braavos and turn Winterfell into it to make her comfortable."

Theon frowned. "Why are you doing this?" Robb shrugged.

"I just want you to be happy," he answered plainly. "...And I miss her. She was a wonderful friend. She brought life to this place. I never noticed how dreary Winterfell could be until she came here and lit the place up with color."

"I did..." said Theon. He then stood. "I'll write her a letter," he said. "I'll tell her everything. She'll come if I ask her, I know she will."

"Of course she will! And I'll write to Master Forel, and tell him, too. And I'll even write to Lady Forel myself telling her how much we would love it for her to come back to Winterfell. I'll tell her she'll have a home here until you and she can go back to the Iron Islands."

"Will she come with me there, I wonder?" Theon mumbled to himself. "Do you think that Lord Stark will really allow me to go home without an alliance brokered in matrimony?"

Robb paused. "Didn't you say you have a sister?"

Theon's brow quirked. "An _elder_ sister..."

"How much elder?"

"Five years... Why?"

Robb paused again, wringing her hands. "I could offer myself-"

"I think not."

"But why?"

"The last time I saw Asha she looked like a fat little boy. Gods only know what she looks like now..."

"It's an option, Theon. I will offer your sister a home as my wife here in Winterfell! Then an alliance would be forged in matrimony, and I'll keep her happy here...I know I will. I always knew you were my brother-in-arms. Why not let the Gods know it, too?"

Robb tentatively reached out and twined his fingers with Theon's. _Stocky Tully fingers_, thought Theon. That's why Robb was never good with a bow. _Stubby fingers_. He couldn't help but smile. "Are we really going to do this?" said Theon.

The Wolf pup smiled, then poured the wine into their goblets, and handed one to Theon. He raised his cup. "To your sister, the future Lady Asha Stark! And to you drinking with me on my wedding day!" Theon laughed.

"To my Lady Wife, Cadenzsa Greyjoy of the Iron Islands!" And they toasted.

Three weeks passed before any word was heard. They then got word that Jaime Lannister attacked Ned Stark in the streets of King's Landing. And then another week passed. Theon was ready for a war, for waiting on Cadenzsa did nothing but make him worry. He spent his days pacing around and riding and hunting, keeping his skills sharp. He knew that a war was on its way, and he knew that if King's Landing was becoming that much more of a dangerous place, then Cadenzsa might be...

Well, she'd probably be fine. Theon saw her kill Wildlings...but he also saw her get distracted by her Handmaidens' distress and get yanked by the hair to - what would have been - an untimely death had he not stepped in. He wondered how she would fair against trained soldiers, but then he remembered her skill when they spend their days Dancing together. She had made him forget that he was a prisoner, and that was her gift to him for saving her life. Had he not done that, had he not acted, he would have never known the soft purr of her voice, or the smell of her hair, or the way the skin on her thigh raised in goosebumps when his breath touched it. What he liked the most on her body were her freckles and scars. A few of her scars, he reckoned, were from duels, but his favorite was a burn scar on her left wrist. She said it was from hot sugar out of the oven in the Bravosi Sea Lord's palace when she was a child. He liked it because it was a bit in the shape of a lean and long fish. He also liked the scar on the back of her knee, where someone had put a sword's tip, and Cadenzsa - in turn - had taken their left ear off, he learned. All of them, every mark on her body, he loved; Theon fancied them to be measuring marks that the Gods used for plans to make the perfect woman, especially the twin moles on the inner parts of her thighs.

Theon sometimes shuddered to think of what would have become of him had he never known her, or if he had never felt that love. He only was with her for a month, and for her he held a more dear affection than any he'd ever felt before. Being apart from her made him sick. Did the whores help? Yes and no. They did their job well...they made him forget, for the few short hours he paid them for. Ros was his favorite, of course. He liked her red hair. But he liked Cadenzsa's black hair better. He didn't even like looking at the other whores with black hair, for how much they reminded him of her.

He loved her. Gods, he loved her so much. He wanted her to be with him again. He wanted to walk arm-in-arm with her around town, buying silks for Sansa's sewing or perhaps a new bit of jewelry from the travelling vendors. He wanted to ride with her again, together on his brown-and-sable horse with the white stripe down his face, with her arms wrapped around his chest from behind. He wanted to feel her breath on the back of his neck. He missed her so much, her and that stupid accent of hers.

And while he rode through the forest, he saw a cart with a passenger with bright red hair. "Stop!" he cried as he rode closer. "Stop!" The cart stopped, and Ros gave him a very annoyed look from the back of that cart. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Going to King's Landing," she answered flatly.

A beat. "In a turnip cart?"

"I'll find a ship heading south in White Harbour," she said rather plainly, her teeth a bit tight.

Theon frowned. "And you can afford that?"

She flipped her green-gold cloak around her body rather indignantly, the Lannister lion necklace glimmering at her white throat. "Some of my friends are more _generous_ than others," she chastised.

The Ironborn snorted through his nose. "There's a _thousand _girls like you in King's Landing," he spat.

"So I'll have lots of company..." She had an answer for everything, didn't she?

"Yes, you'll be very popular," he sneered. "'Til some fat Lord comes to call, with a huge belly and a little prick, and he can't get it up so he knocks all your teeth out."

She laughed softly. "And what will happen to me if I stay here?" she asked. "Will I become _Lady _Greyjoy?" Theon rolled his eyes. "Mistress of the Iron Islands-?"

"Don't be a fool," he snapped.

"I hear that Jaime Lannister attacked Lord Stark in King's Landing. And soon every man for a hundred miles will be marching off to war, and most of them will never be coming back." He frowned, his jaw tight. "There's nothing left for me here." The bitch was right, of course, but Theon guessed that if she had any other real options she might not have become a Whore to begin with. "It's the foreign girl, isn't it?" He snapped to attention. "You wouldn't have noticed me leaving at all if she hadn't have left first." He didn't know what to say or think. Was she jealous? It had never occurred to him that Ros could be jealous of Cadenzsa, but he realized that though he had spent two or three nights a week in the brothels before, the moment Cadenzsa's lips spoke the words 'my noble Champion', he hadn't even thought of finding his coin purse. For a month and a half, he had been absent from there. Surely, the brothel must have thought him dead, until they heard of her. The whores and their Madam were probably not as dumb as Theon might have wagered; they must have put two-and-two together about it...did everyone know? Did all of Winterfell know about them, now? Of their affair? "You want to know what she said about you?"

Anger rose in his heart. "Who are you to speak of Lady Cadenzsa Forel as if you knew her, you filthy whore? You think she would fraternize with the likes of you?"

"Oh, yes, the high and mighty Braavosi Dancing Mistress? The wild Sea Rose? You should have heard it all. You should have heard all the things they were saying about her all over the outer walls of Winterfell. You should have heard the things they said in town. We were the ones that had to clean up her mess, you know. Some of her fancy gowns even made it back to the brothel once those Wildlings were sorted out, not that she'd want them back after what they'd been through. Her jewels made it all around town, and some of them are probably halfway past the Wall by now. You can always tell a woman by the kind of jewelry she wears."

"She never spoke to you. She never even _knew_ about you." It was a lie, of course, but who cares? Ros didn't need to know that Cadenzsa knew about her. The last thing he wanted was the only remaining consistent lover he had feeling like she was owed something.

"Oh, she never spoke to me. But them Free City handmaidens of hers liked to talk quite a bit, and the day she was prancing about town with her handmaidens in tow, that Lyseni was chatting about it. And I was there with Jeyne buying bread. And when Jeyne pointed them out to me, I followed, and I heard them talking." If Theon had been off his horse, he might have thrashed her across her face for speaking so indignantly. "That Lyseni asked her what she thought of you. And she said: 'he makes me feel like a Virgin.'" He frowned.

"What does _that_ mean?"

Ros quirked a red eyebrow. "You know, _touched_ for the _very first time_?" Theon's stomach was hard like a rock on the inside when she turned away. "Let's go, Seffryn," she called, and the cart's horse whinnied and began clopping along.

"L-Let me see it one more time!" called Theon with a bit more desperation than he wanted.

"See what?" called back Ros.

He quickly reached into his coin purse and flicked a glimmering copper coin into the air. With her pale hand she grabbed the coin out of the air, and began laughing jovially. She reached and pulled up her skirt, showing her pale open thighs and red-haired cunt.

"I'm going to miss you!" called Theon, standing up on the stirrups of his horse's saddle.

"I know!"

He sat on that horse and watched her disappear into the forest. He rode back to Winterfell, ate the roasted pheasant he'd killed earlier in the day, and went to bed thinking about how now all the women he liked were gone. Not that he held any truly great affection for Ros, of course, but she was still his favorite whore. Were he in the old days, he'd take her and keep her as a Salt Wife, and visit her when it pleased him. But the only wife he wanted for real was Cadenzsa; he knew that now. He didn't know how it was all going to work, but he guessed that Cadenzsa would plead with her father, and then they could sail back to Braavos together, the Secret City of the Valyrian colonies.

'Like a Virgin,' she had said? That somehow didn't seem right of her to say that. When she was around him, and they were alone in the dark of his room, or sometimes in the dark of hers, the last thing she acted like was Virginal. He knew that she wasn't a Virgin since the first time, and the second, and especially the third. It was best when she was still sweaty after Dancing, and she hadn't yet a chance to bathe. He liked eating her cunt when it was still salty with sweat; it reminded him of the sea, of home. And the way she bucked her hips, and the way she ran her nails along his back, and the way her lips and tongue and throat felt when she threw him on his back and sucked his cock into her mouth were all a testament that 'like a virgin' was the exact opposite of the way he seemed to make her feel. If either of them seemed virginal, it had to have been him, for it was with such awe that he let her take over his body and possess him the way she did. It was he that was the one who laid back and let her fuck him. He let her throw him down and laid flat on his back as she rode him like he was a wild bull. But perhaps she was a product of Braavos, for the women there were Free to do as they liked?

Theon then realized, as he was falling asleep, that he'd no idea of what Braavos was like. She hadn't told him anything. When they were together, they talked of things like philosophy and reading and food, and they Danced together for hours and hours at a time, and when they made love they didn't speak at all. Of all the times they spoke and did not speak, they never once talked of her past, of her home in Braavos...all she'd ever say was 'I'm not sure I'll ever go back.' It was probably because her family thought she was too old to be living at home without a husband, so they came to Westeros. He wondered what was so wrong with her that she couldn't find on in all of the Free Cities, but he reminded himself that it was her mother's idea to come to Westeros to find her a new House. Theon wondered what it was like to have a House to keep you, or a home to go back to. He wondered these things, and as he gently thumbed Cadenzsa's pendant, he fell slowly asleep, with his other hand around his cock, thinking about her perfect teardrop-shaped breasts.

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No words. R&R.

More to come, soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Eddard**

* * *

The gardens of King's Landing didn't seem so treacherous during the day, and they wouldn't have were he not leaning on a cane to support himself. He was still Hand of the King, but the Lannisters didn't seem to care about that. They had always been a blessed House, and it seems that if any House got any closer to unraveling that power, it was destroyed. The Stark House was just as old, and just as powerful, perhaps not with gold, but with honor, and loyalty, and the North. But for today, he would try to think not of it and see his girls play.

Sansa would have loved King's Landing had everything not been so spoiled for her. But Prince Joffrey, apparently, had done his best to make amends for what had happened, and had even given Sansa a Lannister lion necklace. He hadn't thought of how he'd feel of his daughter wearing Lannister gold, rather than the Baratheon crown. But it seemed that Joffrey was a Lannister through-and-through, like his mother, the Queen. Sansa was like her mother, very much so, with that beautiful red hair and those blue Tully eyes. They both took after their Lady mothers, Joffrey and Sansa, and it almost might have seemed fitting were Joffrey not a madder, quite dafter version of Cersei. The boy was not ready to be King. Robert knew that, Ned wagered, and perhaps that's why he had now brought the boy with him on the Hunt, much to the Queen's chagrin.

Ned watched Arya and Sansa play in the garden. Sansa was blindfolded and Arya ran around her, giggling madly, running around and trying to keep away. They both were far away from the troubles of the world, and it was the way that Ned wanted it. Syrio poured him a drink, which Ned politely refused, only because he felt like keeping his wits a bit sharper than he usually would.

"You are troubled, old friend?" asked Syrio. "You are right to be troubled."

"I'm afraid Dancing won't do much for this kind of trouble," japed Ned with a laugh. Syrio smiled.

"We love them," he said, looking out to his little she-cubs. "We love them so much, and we want only the world for them. And when they get older, we realize that the world is no place for our children. The world is cruel, and hard, and unjust. But, it is sad, for the time we realize it, they are too old to allow us to protect them anymore."

"Aye, they grow fast..." Lord Stark thumbed the letter from his son awkwardly in his hand. Syrio drank some of the wine, and said a few things in Braavosi about it, and then turned to him.

"I see now why you have so many children, Lord Stark," said the little man. "When one leaves, you have many more to keep you company." He laughed, as did Lord Stark. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Cadenzsa went once to Volantis by herself. I was only apart from her for six months. It was agony, but I was still First Sword of Braavos then, so I was distracted. Now that I am a humble tutor, I miss her dearly." He sighed. "When she was growing up, she was my shadow. I took her everywhere, and she never wanted to do anything without me. Then, when she was nine, she started walking around the Palace by herself, and then... Ever since then, she has been ferociously independent. I learned then that I was the one who never wanted to do anything without her."

"Serrah, forgive me if I intrude on your affairs," began Ned, "but why is it that you only had Cadenzsa? She did wonderfully with all five of my children. Why not let her have a brother or sister or two?"

The Braavosi sighed through his nose and looked up to the sky, far across the horizon over the Royal Keep's walls. "To know that story would be to know my wife. She has always been a very...stubborn woman. But stubborn in her own way; a quiet way, a woman's way, one might say. She and I were not on good feet when I left to retrieve my brother's wife from Lorath, after a wedding of her cousin. I love my brother, but he was ill, so I go to see my good-sister escorted back home. Cadenzsa was not yet ready to be born, so I think it is fine. My wife is only seven months fat then." He drank. Lord Stark decided to drink with him. "I come back to Braavos with my good-sister, and I find out that my wife is there at the Isle of Flowers, and has just given into the light with my little girl, and dying."

There was a pause of shock. "Serrah, I had no idea."

"Be not dis-heart, she is well now. Alive and well and pretty as a flower. But at the time, she was very sick. All the water had been pierced out of her from Cadenzsa coming too soon. Thankfully we had the best healers in Essos. And my wife lived, as did my Cadenzsa. But the birthing was hard on her. Vanessi, my wife, was never built for work, you could say. She was built to be a Lady, to host grand masques and hold parties, and to charm and wit everyone. She was never strong. Cadenzsa was strong from since before she drew her first breath, and so strong was she and so wanting to break into the world, she clawed her way out of my wife's womb the very second she could. She tore her way out, leaving my wife bleeding open on our feather bed, near-to-death. We could never have children again. She had many cousins, to keep her company, of course, until we moved into the Sealord's Palace. When she would ask me why it was she never had a brother or sister to play with, I always just told her that why would I need another child when we had the perfect one already."

Lord Stark laughed, in spite of everything. He then turned to his old friend and held up the raven he'd gotten from Robb. "This came from my son yester-evening. I must tell you, it came as a shock to me." He handed the Braavosi the parchment scroll. "I spoken with the King on account of wedding Sansa instead to Theon Greyjoy, in hopes of brokering an alliance with his House, and bringing the Iron Islands back into the Realm. Perhaps Sansa can someday become a Queen of the Iron Islands, should it come to that. Both Robb and Greyjoy have written back saying that Robb would rather offer himself to the Greyjoys and wed Theon's elder sister, if it means Theon can then wed Cadenzsa instead."

The Dancing Master looked up from the letter after a long time. "I am not shocked at this. I had never seen Cadenzsa so sad before." He sighed. "I thought that it was because of her missing home. And then I think that it is from your eldest boy, Robb."

He shook his head. "I tried to keep them away from each other," confessed Lord Stark. "I knew you had plans for her elsewhere." He sighed. "Robb _was _rather sad when she left. I didn't even think that Greyjoy would fall in love with her."

"When love is fallen into, do we think it will happen? Do we plan it?"

"A question for the philosophers, I'm afraid."

There was a long silence between them. Syrio looked back at the letter again. Ned hoped that he would day yes to the proposal just as much as he wished he would say no.

"If it is True love, then we should want our children to be happy. But it cannot be, for it is too late. Had you come to me a month before, I might have considered it. The boy could be kept with us in Braavos, even, while we wait for his father to die... _Or_ I could just kill his father and then he becomes Lord. But too late. Cadenzsa is gone with my wife to Dorne. She'll be a Martell soon. Probably before the year is up. I cannot insult the Martells so. They, too, are old friends of the Forels. And Cadenzsa..." He sighed. "I have warned her for her life-time to be wary of the Iron Islands. The Ironmen are fearsome and dangerous men, savage in their Old Ways. My blade has tasted an Ironman's heart, only to find they are simply bags of skin and bone and water. Perhaps this Greyjoy boy is different from his father, I am wondering. Not that it would make a difference, now. It is too late."_  
_

Ned understood, but he also did not. Greyjoy had been a good Ward, and he tried to play the father to the boy when he could. He had an easy laugh, and was loyal to them during his ten-year-stay at Winterfell. Ned had done it to save the boy's life, for it wasn't a child's fault that his father rose in rebellion, and he wanted to give the boy a chance at a better future. Sansa had the future of a Queen should Lord Stark allow it, but she was also a key to the North, being his second-born child and firstborn girl. She deserved to marry a man that was honorable, and brave, and good-of-heart when she came of age. She was such a baby to him, still, no matter how tall she grew. If Ned were to break the alliance with House Baratheon, Sansa would be furious, and have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, back to the North. It was a father's job to see his children happy, wasn't it.

"Sansa dislikes the gold-head Prince?" Syrio asked just then.

The Lord of Winterfell shook his head. "She's in love with the boy."

Syrio hooted. "How can she know of _love_ yet? She's a child! Love is for a man and woman, not a little girl and crawling baby boy, still at his mother's skirt."

"Even so," said Lord Stark solemnly. "I could never cause Sansa unhappiness. She is such a good daughter. She deserves to be happy. She wants out of Winterfell. It's a father's duty to see his children happy."

The Braavosi put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head with a laughing grin. "My friend, Lord Eddard, I must tell you that you are wrong. It is a father's duty to see his children grow up to be good and strong men and women. Raising happy children will do nothing but raise shit-headed spoiled, whining, mewling blaggards. The world is a hard place, and nobody gets everything they want, when they want it. Nobody. The only thing you are given freely in this world is a chance to try."

"Are you so craven?"

"Not at all, my friend! But if I had a gold dragon for every time Cadenzsa cursed me, I'd be a very rich man indeed. Look at her now. She's a woman grown, and free, of course, to make her own choices now. And I can leave her knowing that what ever she does, she will be fine. Can you leave Sansa and think that what ever she does, she will be fine? No? Perhaps it is because she has not enough hurts. Hurts are lessons. Lessons make you a better person. From a little pain and a little hardship, comes a stronger man."

"She's just a little girl, not a man."

"And little girls do what their fathers tell them to do. If you tell her she will go back to the North, what can she _really_ do to you to tell you no? Put you to the sword? The worst thing she can do is say 'no.'" He poured more wine. "You are her father. She'll love you no matter what you do. Just say to her 'You will understand when you are older.'"

Ned scoffed, trying to lighten his mood. "Does that really work?"

Syrio shrugged. "It didn't _not_ work..." They shared another laugh. "May I tell you something?" Ned nodded. "I wouldn't want a son. I thought I wanted a son when I was young and foolish, for I thought it might be easier, but if I had the choice to go back, I'd have my Cadenzsa again. I'd have a daughter. It is hard, I know. It is hard to let our daughters go. We shower them with love and shelter them from the world. When they cry, they run to us and us alone. We are their safe place. They fear us and love us all at once, and they behave when we tell them to, and they rebel when we think they will not. We love them so much, and we always want to sleep sound knowing that they are safe and happy. But they beg for the world, and they beg to be in it. They get older. They grow tall and pretty like their mothers. We then see men begin to look at them like we used to look at pretty girls, and we then understand why _their_ fathers hated us so." Ned laughed out loud. "But the only things that are certain in this world is that someday, we will die, and our daughters will grow up, whether we like it or not." A beat. "But, until they are grown, tell them what to do." Ned laughed again, as did Syrio.

"Ah, Gods, what will I do, now?" sighed Ned. "I still am Hand of the King... I must offer one of my children. I can't offer Robb to Princess Myrcella," sighed Ned. "Maybe little Bran, now that he's awake... Or Arya to Prince Tommen, if she'll allow it."

Syrio laughed. "Arya-child is a wonderful girl! She would be an excellent Queen." Ned frowned. "You know, my Cadenzsa was exactly the same as her as a child."

"Rambunctious, was she?" asked Ned in an amused disbelief.

"'_Was'_ she?" Syrio guffawed.

"I must say, I have a hard time picturing it. The girl seems so calm and mature and well-behaved."

"The best thing about learning the Water Dance? It channels that rambunctiousness into something else...so that way they are perfectly-behaved Ladies every other hour of the day. I tell Cadenzsa when she is a child: you are a sword, but you must pretend that your clothes are your sheath, and let nobody know it. Hide your ferocity, hide your strength, and hide how clever you are. Nobody will suspect that a pretty girl can be deadly."

"With respect, Serrah, Arya won't ever be a Dancing Master."

"With respect, Lord Eddard Stark, I doubt she will be a Westerosi Lady, either."

The men watched as the little wolf girls played. Lady bounded up and down and nosed at Arya's rump from behind, and Sansa seemed to become more alive with each scream and shriek and laugh that came from within her. Sweet Tully Princess, thought Ned, with his pretty daughter's red hair flowing in the wind. He couldn't have asked for two better daughters; or, rather, he could have but he wouldn't. He wouldn't ever ask for different daughters, had the Gods given him the choice. Syrio was the same way. Ned imagined that the Braavosi was growing mad without Cadenzsa at his side. He had left his three boys up in Winterfell to Hold the keep, and protect it. But, mostly, he just didn't want to be away from the side of his two little girls.

"Serrah, I must confess, I know not what to do, now."

"No father _truly_ knows, when it comes to his daughters. He can only guess." The Braavosi sighed. "What will you do if I say 'no' to this?" he asked. "What will you do if I tell you that I cannot break the alliance with House Martell?"

Ned sighed through his nose. "Only the Gods truly know," said Ned softly. "I will tell you, Serrah, that Theon Greyjoy has been a good Ward to me. I took him into my home when I killed his brothers. They weren't much older than Robb is now, I can tell you. The way that poor boy looked at me when we tore him from his mother's arms and took him to Westeros will be with me forever. I fostered the boy in hopes that he would grow strong and wise, a better man than his father. The boy is honorable, and a proven warrior. He would make a good husband for Cadenzsa, and I know he would do what he could to be loyal to her, and provide for her, and see that she is happy. Greyjoy has always had a talent for making those around him smile; he even called his horse Smiler."

"I know you are fond of the boy, Lord Eddard Stark," said the Braavosi. "So fond of him you are, that you are will to give your eldest girl to him. You are willing to make that alliance in the Iron Islands, in exchange for your other daughter? Or your son? Is royalty so good for House Stark? I am wondering once, were the Starks not Kings in their own right?"

The question made Ned pause. Aye, the Starks were once Kings in the North, long, long ago. They made giants kneel to them, and they built the wall. Ned knew his history, as all Lords of Winterfell knew it.

"This one must ask forgiveness, my friend," said Syrio. "This one loves his daughter, for she is the best of his life." He smiled. "I cannot give Cadenzsa to a broken House," he said. "The Greyjoy House is broken by war. How can I think to send my only precious girl off to them when the Martells will give a much better life to her? And I know not the boy's father, except his name, against which I fought. And the Iron Islands is no place for my Cadenzsa to be, for theirs are Gods of death, it is true, but theirs is a way of slavery, of savagery. I am wondering why you would send sweet Sansa to such a hard place as this to live the rest of her days, when she has not picked up a sword in her life." He sighed. "Cadenzsa must never know about this," he said. "Were she to get wind that he wanted her with him, not a thing in the world could ever stop her. And the Martells are too good of a thing for her. It is the best she can hope for, and the best I can give for her safety. I am sorry, my old friend, but I must refuse this offer. I will write to the boy, of course, for if he is as good-hearted as you say he is, he deserves to hear it."

Ned held his head. "Would that I could, I would call this whole thing off and go back to Winterfell. I know that Robert is my friend, and he is doing his best with his Lannister-borne boy Prince..." He stifled a sigh. "I will write Greyjoy myself and tell him your answer, Serrah. The boy deserves to hear it from me. Cadenzsa mustn't ever know." He took the letter that Greyjoy had written to Lady Forel from his pocket and crumpled it in his hand. "I'll burn this-"

"-Wait," said the Dancing Master. "Is that what the Ironboy had written to her? Before you end it, may I?"

Ned held back. "I'd rather you didn't, Serrah. The boy poured his heart into this letter. I've never seen the likes of it from him. In truth, I wouldn't have believed it was from him were it not in his hand."

"I am her _father_," hissed the Braavosi. "A father should know of the root of his daughter's heartache." Syrio held his head high, and looked away. "It is a long letter, it seems. Perhaps you can read it to me, then, so one could say my eyes never saw it?"

He watched his girls tumble about in the grass. A mockingbird repeated the shrill noises playfully in one of the trees. Ned unfurled the crumpled parchment. If the shoe were on the other foot, he reckoned, he'd want Syrio to read the words to him. It was only the right thing to do; he cleared his throat and read aloud, quietly:

"'Cadenzsa,

In truth, this is an awkward way to ask for your hand in marriage, and I am grateful that I had already done so in Winterfell, for I might not have the strength to do it like this, could I not see your beautiful face. I must tell you that a proposal has come our way to bring me home to the Iron Islands, making me the reigning Lord, and I would see you come with me, as my Lady Greyjoy.

I feel I do owe an apology for not telling you of my affections sooner, for if I had, you would have stayed longer. I feel sick and empty without you. I wear your chain that hangs at my heart, where your name is written within me. I will never forget your name, and I will never forget the vows I have made to you. I solemnly swear myself to you, over and over again, and I remain yours from this day until my last day.

I will take you riding again on Smiler's back, when you come, and we can stay in Winterfell, should the arrangement take longer than expected.

My life has been made brighter by your presence, and I did not realize the loneliness that my heart held until you came. With you, I am no longer alone, and with you, I am brave, and strong, and I remain your Champion for ever. I remain yours, the Lord of your heart, for ever.

Theon.'"

Ned looked up, and Sansa was standing in front of him, her eyes wet. Before Ned could scold her for listening in on their conversation, she sobbed, and held her wet nose against her sleeve.

"It was Theon," she breathed. "_Theon_ is Cadenzsa's True Love!" Her eyes lit with happiness. "_Theon_ is Cadenzsa's handsome Prince? Truly, Father?" Syrio then took the letter from his hands, and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces, which scattered to the ground like so many dead leaves.

"No," said the Dancing Master flatly to his sweet Sansa, whose face then fell like a burning tower. "He is not." And then, without so much as another breath on the subject, he was gone.

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Read, Review, Fave... *sigh* Feelz.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Robb**

* * *

It would seem that the time of day when Robb and Theon supped together was the time of day to best receive ravens with troubling news. The first of the two was from Pyke, the Iron Islands, sealed with a dull black tallow and stamped with the Greyjoy's Krakken. Robb had grown up knowing the Greyjoy Krakken as the ruler of the Iron Islands, a strange and dangerous place full of strange and dangerous Ironborn men. His father had told him that these men kept neither the Old Gods nor the Seven, and held to their axes and songs and ships as dearly as the North kept its honor and duty. He had heard that they had spent their Old Days ravaging the western coasts, raping and pillaging and burning everything down. Theon was the first Ironborn that Robb had ever seen. He thought at first he was to be afraid of him, but his father had told him to treat the boy well, as a friend. His father never liked to talk about his battles, but Robb learned that should the Greyjoys rise in revolt again, Eddard Stark was to cut off Theon's head.

The seal was unbroken, which was odd, considering the Maester had every right to read and keep the letters, for he was sworn to Winterfell. But it was unbroken when it met Robb's hands, and he felt Theon's eyes on it. Robb sat next to him. His palms were clammy; this letter held Robb's future.

"You open it," said Robb to Theon. "You haven't heard from your family at all. You deserve the first honor."

Theon smiled and took the letter. He fingered the black tallow Krakken and a smile Robb hadn't ever seen before graced Theon's full lips, and he watched the apple of his pale throat swallow. He held onto the letter for a while, and then lifted it to his nose to inhale. Theon then broke the seal and unfurled the paper. An unreadable expression came on the Ironborn's face, and a frown then furrowed his brow.

"What's wrong?" asked Robb after quite a long time.

"It's from my sister," said Theon, his eyes still fixed on the parchment and ink. "I would recognize her hand anywhere; she has always crosses her 't's very high."

"Well, what news, now, Theon?"

Theon gave Robb an unsure look. "It says: "Dear Robb Stark, this is what I think of your terms: you are a giant, veiny cock. Asha Greyjoy." And the word 'Greyjoy' us underlined very, very harshly."

Robb stood in shock, as if the letter was a slap across the face. Maester Luwin didn't gasp, but he guffawed a'plenty. "She wrote that?!" asked Robb.

Theon gulped, his mouth obviously a little dry. "Well, she wrote the first part, and then - " he turned the letter around to show Robb and Maester Luwin "-she then drew a picture of a giant, veiny cock and wrote the word "you" on it." And, true to Theon's word, the parchment was smeared with the inked drawing of a veiny, erect cock, with the word "you", indeed, written on the shaft. Robb shook his head in horror. "It's quite a good drawing, in truth, and if she really knows that much of what a cock looks like, she's probably not as virtuous as you might want for a bride..." Theon began to laugh.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" demanded Robb. "Without her, and I, the only alliance with the Iron Islands is you and Sansa!"

The Ironborn shrugged and sat down, holding his head and staring at the letter. "Had I not learned to find humor in unpleasant situations, my Lord, I might have gone mad years ago."

"My Lord," said Maester Luwin, "I believe that _this_ is a more-important matter, if I may." And he handed Robb the second letter. Robb read over Sansa's words, disbelief growing, and anger swelling in his heart. "'Treason?' Sansa wrote this?!"

"It is your sister's hand," answered Maester Luwin, "but the Queen's words. You are summoned to King's Landing to pledge fealty to the new king."

"Joffrey puts my father in chains and wants his ass kissed?!"

"This is a Royal Command, my Lord," answered Maester Luwin. "To refuse it would be treason-"

"Oh, I'll ride to King's Landing," said Robb as he crumpled the paper in his hands. "But not alone... Call the banners."

Robb felt the warmth of Theon's smirk. "All of them, my Lord?" queried the Maester.

"They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?" Robb's stomach felt tight.

"They have."

"I will see what their words are worth."

Maester Luwin's face changed; he knew what this meant. With the attempt on Bran's life committed, and Ser Jaime attacking Lord Stark in King's Landing's streets, the wounds against the North were beginning to cut too deep. Eddard Stark was the warden of the North, and now Hand of the King. Robb Stark was now Lord and Warden of the North, and as a Lord and Warden of the North, and as a Stark of Winterfell, he had to look out for his family. His family needed him; his Northmen needed him. He sat.

"Are you afraid?" came Theon's voice.

Robb felt himself shaking, and when he raised his hand and lowered his blue eyes to look he saw it quivering like a dying leaf on a branch. "I must be," he said with a trembling throat.

Smiling, always smiling, Theon said: "Good."

"Why is that good?"

"It means you're not stupid." Doubtless, it was a jape, was it not? Theon must have been mad to jape at such a thing as war. But Theon was a man-grown who had seen much more war and bloodshed than Robb ever had. Theon was a captive of the North, and had seen his two elder brothers slain, and his castle broken down brick by brick. Theon had known war and bloodshed while Robb was still playing with toy swords and wooden horses in Winterfell; Theon had seen a flaming sword cut off a man's head while Robb sat in his mother's lap and she lulled him to sleep. Theon was Ironborn, and Robb was a Stark of Winterfell. Theon was Robb's brother, if not in blood. _Gods be good, Theon, do you know what to do? What's in your head?_ Mewled Robb to himself on the insides of his heart.

That night, he called his bannermen to Winterfell under the guise of a feast, for the Lannisters had spies everywhere, he was sure. He called the Glovers, the Umbers, Karstark and more...it was all becoming more and more real. But what of his Winterfell? His castle? Who would watch over it and its people? His mother was gone, riding down to King's Landing, and his father was playing as the Hand of the King, while circled with treacherous golden lions. In a moment of weakness, Robb summoned Theon to his room.

"No matter how much I drink," said Robb, pouring his dearest friend a goblet of wine "I still can't..." He faltered.

"I know. War is no easy thing."

Robb sat. Theon took his wine and sat down to watch the fire with him. "I need to ask you something," said the wolf pup, Grey Wind sitting contentedly at his feet. "And I need you to tell me the truth."

Theon, of course thinking he was having a bit of a go at him, leaned back and said: "I wouldn't lie to you, Lord Stark."

There was a very long pause. Robb watched the glimmer of the crackling fires dance over the rim of his goblet. The dark red wine looked very much like, in that moment, the black pool in the Godswood that reflected the great Weirwood tree, his father's tree. Robb drank. Theon drank. He would be marching off to War before the fortnight was up, and the men in the North were behind him. He hadn't ever thought of it before that night, but what if the shoe were on the other foot, and Theon's father had fostered Robb as his honored guest. Would Robb be treated as well? Would Robb be the same man? He began to wonder if Theon was truly the man that he thought he was, and not just some product of the North. Robb began to wonder what Theon would be like if he hadn't grown up with him, but instead be a true Ironborn, like his father wanted him to be.

Doubtless, his father missed him dearly. Doubtless, his father loved him beyond measure, for had he not he would have not stayed quiet in the Iron Islands for so long. Balon Greyjoy was once a name whispered to Robb via Old Nan's bedtime stories, along with othersuch Ironborn men, said to come and sack and reave and pillage in the night, especially if he was naughty and rose from his bed before the morn was up. Doubtless, Theon's father wanted to see him back in the Kingdom of the Iron Islands, safe and sound. So he would convince his daughter to wed Robb and bring peace between the kingdoms; Theon and he would be brothers. Theon was only a shy few years his elder, and Robb was sure he wouldn't mind a twenty-something woman for a bride. Thing was, would she mind him at his sixteen years?

"Well?" Robb looked up at Theon's voice. "Going to ask me?"

He laughed a little, and drank his wine. It was a Dornish red, and Robb wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Theon seemed to be enjoying it some. "Your sister..."

"Don't fret over it, Lord Stark," said Theon. "The Greyjoys have always been a rough bunch, more frank and snark than even the Starks, if you can imagine it." Smiling, always smiling. How can someone smile so much? "We are hard people, but a wise people at that. My father told me on the day that Pyke fell that he who kneels may rise again with a sword in his hand. Him who does not kneel will die, stiff and straight-legged. I would hope that my father is still the wise man I remembered, and will yield to make peace with the islands and the Greenlands."

"Do you reckon you could write to him yourself? Perhaps even write to your sister and ask her?"

"Aye, I could, if I wanted to risk more than I am already." Robb frowned in confusion. "You don't understand, do you? The impolite truth of me is that I am a hostage. This means, while I am an 'honored guest' here, I have no contact with my real family. I'm forbidden to write them, see them, ever. Not until my father dies, and I return there. I'll be Lord there, and I'll have my home back, but not until my father lies cold-dead at the bottom of the sea." Theon drank. Robb drank, too.

Robb thought of what it might truly mean for Theon to be in the Iron Islands as their Lord. He would _do_ nothing about it, in truth, but he would miss his friend dearly. Someday, he reckoned, they'd see each other again when the time came, when Theon and Robb both wed and they had their own little Lordlings running about. Asha was out of the question, it would have seemed, and Theon was so in love with Cadenzsa Forel that he wouldn't ever marry any other. He did wonder, though, how one can claim to love someone if they hadn't any slight bedding every whore, kitchen wench, milkmaid, and all that came across their path. If Theon and Cadenzsa had truly consummated their love, wouldn't that mean faithfulness on both accounts should be held?

"It's been months," said Theon, then. "And we're about to march off to War, soon." He sighed. "Perhaps I should send another raven for Cadenzsa..."

A sharp pain came into Robb's throat, and he drank his wine to swallow it, but the pain was still there. "How long does it take for a raven to reach King's Landing?"

"I don't know," said the Ironborn Lord, thumbing the rim of his wine goblet. "She might be as far as Dorne, by now, for all I know. But it shouldn't be taking her this long to write me back."

"Give her a chance, Theon!" gasped Robb. "If she's down in Dorne then that means that she's with someone else." His friend shot an icy glance at him, as if he had struck him hard across the face. "She's got quite a bit to offer, and she's from a very good name with a very good standing in Essos."

"In _Essos, _Robb. What good is an Essosi's land and titles and wealth in Westeros? Everyone's afraid of her in Braavos. She's _got_ to come back to me. She has to." He snorted through his nose and went back to looking at the fire. He then stood and began to pace, back and forth, and then stopped at the mantle, trying to lean as casually as possible, but just looking rather stiff-legged and uncomfortable. "I offer her a place on the Iron Islands as my Lady, _and_ somebody that will truly love her. What more could she possibly want? She doesn't even _like_ the idea of power. She just wants to spend all of her time lounging and Dancing and swimming. Where else to do that but an island? Where else to be happy than with a family? _My_ family?"

There was a very long pause. The silence felt quite loud for young Lord Stark could feel it in his throat. "I'm your family," offered Robb, when what he had truly meant to say was 'I love you.' Theon must have seen the tremble of Robb's lip, the welling in his eyes, for his handsome face softened and he set his goblet down on the stone mantle. In two steps he crossed to Robb and bent down, taking his face in both of his hands. And Theon smiled.

"No matter what happens, I am your brother," he said, his mossy breath brushing gently against Robb's lashes. "now and always."

"Now and always," he whispered. His eyes were so blue, like the sea, Robb imagined. In his naivety, Robb had imagined that Theon would always be there, at his side, holding his hand, being his elder brother. Robb had taken Theon for granted, but he was of the North, of quiet, stone-faced, stoic and sober men. He would never tell him how much he wanted him to stay. Theon loved Cadenzsa, and the words of love he would say to her would never be said to Robb. In truth, he was better off forgetting about it. It was probably a mistake, that night, anyhow; they were both drunk. Robb hadn't ever even been with a girl before; he hadn't even kissed one before.

The next night they rode out. Robb said his goodbyes to Bran, who though he had begged him to come with, Robb knew it could not be.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell" he had told his baby brother, who he loved so much. Robb was going to bring his mother back. Robb was going to march on King's Landing. Robb was going to war.

The Glovers marched, the Karstark's marched...as they went on, more and more bannermen joined in. They marched south to the Riverlands. Soon, twenty-thousand strong were marching behind Robb, calling him The Young Wolf, with Grey Wind at his side, and how he had won supporters despite his youth. The Starks, he had heard whispered, have always had a way of inspiring unerring loyalty. He supposed, however, that the power of the Starks was only held in the North, for his father rotted in a cell beneath the Red Keep, and he wondered how many days it would be before his head was taken.

And then the air became hostile. Robb had convinced Roose Bolton and his bannermen to join in on the bloodshed, too, of course, but the real battle would begin soon. Riverrun had been besieged by a host led by Jaime Lannister; another force, led by Tywin Lannister, came from the South. Robb split his forces, wisely, and so it came that Roose Bolton proved quite useful, and loyal.

And then they reached the Twins, by the Green Fork. They camped, or rather waited, Theon artfully shooting down each raven that Lord Walder Frey sent out. The Freys were a treacherous, new-made House, by many respects, and - in truth - nobody wanted anything to do with them. Ancient Walder Frey was the epicenter of many a jape and jest whispered at court, for his weaselly face and bedding girl after girl after girl. He'd laid dead seven wives, at least, hadn't he? Eight? Each one of them generations younger than he, and all dead before he. Of course, if Robb was a girl, he might die just from the thought of his withered old cock coming near.

Another raven flew out. Theon's arrow shot straight and true, and the raven fell dead. There was no archer half-so skilled as Theon, and when he went and handed it to Robb. He sighed. "It's a birthday message to his grand-niece Walda," Robb said."

"Or so Walder Frey would have you think," said Theon, _not_ smiling this time.

"Keep shooting them down," commanded Lady Stark, to which Theon nodded. "We can't risk Lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannisters."

Robb was growing more and more annoyed, but his annoyance would not make the banks of the river join, or the gates open to his twenty-thousand strong. "He's Grandfather's bannerman. We can't expect his support?"

"Expect nothing of Walder Frey and you'll be surprised," announced Greatjon Umber, standing a full head taller than Ser Rodrik. "Look," he said, and rising above the grass from far away were two men on horseback holding banners, approaching the twenty-thousand strong of Robb's Northmen.

The young Lord Stark gulped, tightening his fist, listening to the sound of his own heart and the soft leather of his glove squeaking against its own skin. "My father rots in a dungeon," spat he, "how long before they take his head? We need to cross the Trident, and we need to do it now."

"Just march up to the gate and _tell_ him you're crossing," insisted Theon. "We've got five times his numbers. You can _take_ the Twins, if you have to." Ever the Ironborn, Theon was eager to get his sword wet, his arrows piercing someone's heart. There were at least a dozen arrows stuck into the soft ground near his feet, all ready to shoot down the ravens, or any of Walder Frey's soldiers. Why so blood-thirsty? His father had done so much to gentle Theon's heart, but with each enemy dead, his smiles grew more and more malicious. '_The Iron Islands is a cruel place, and cruel places breed cruel men_,' his father's voice rang in his head. But Theon was not cruel. Cadenzsa would not love a cruel man, nor would Robb...

"Not in time," added Robb's uncle. "Tywin Lannister marches North as we speak."

"The Freys have held the Crossing for six-hundred years, and in those six-hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll," said his mother. The Freys...a minor house, at best, thought Robb. In the North, this would not be a problem; the damn Riverlands... He exchanged a knowing glance with Theon, who seemed to hear his every thought.

"Have my horse saddled and ready," announced Robb in a soft and low voice.

"Enter the Twins alone and he'll have you sold to the Lannisters as he likes!" scolded Uncle Blackfish.

"Or throw you in a dungeon," reminded Theon, his eyes squinting a little from the angle of the bright sun. "Or slit your throat." The Frey's flag-holders were coming closer.

"My father," began Robb, "would do whatever it took to secure the Crossing. What ever it took," he insisted again, looking to his family. Ser Rodrik remained silent; his mother's Tully-blue eyes locked on the ever-closer-coming horsemen. If I'm going to win this, I can't have other men bargaining for me."

"I agree," said his mother, just then, nodding her head. "I'll go-"

"You can't!" came a chorus of the men's voices around her.

"I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl," she insisted. "He would never harm me."

"Unless there was a profit in it..." grumbled Lord Umber.

The Frey's banner-holders came on their brown-colored mounts. "We couldn't help but notice you seem to be shooting all of our ravens down," announced one of them, who lacked very much any sight of a chin.

"And _we_ couldn't help but notice that your gates are locked tight to the North," announced Theon. "Regardless of your allegiance to the Tullys."

"Exactly," said the second one. "Tully."

"And I am a Tully," said Lady Cat, stepping forward. "And I wish for a personal audience with Walder Frey."

"_Lord_ Walder Frey is wedded already, missus, to a woman far younger-"

"Hold your tongue, you little twat, or lose it!" barked Lord Umber.

"My mother is to be granted safe passage into the castle," warned Robb, "and tell Lord Frey that he has Northmen, twenty-thousand strong, that will see to that, waiting to knock on his gates." _Gods, even his banner-holders look like damn ferrets_, thought Robb.

And after a few more pleasantries, if you could call them that, Robb's mother rode on her horse between the two men towards the Twins. Robb huffed through his nose and waited. For hours, he waited. And after hours, his Lady Mother came back, with a bit of a sullen look on her face. She came into the tent.

"Mother!" said Robb with a gasp. "You were in there for so long.."

Lady Catelyn gulped. "Lord Frey," she began, "will allow us to Cross, for a price."

"And that price is?" asked Robb, eager.

"That, when the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters." Robb blinked in shock. Aghast, he wanted to remain optimistic about the situation - for, after all, he had gained an ally and the safe passage towards Tywin's armies, but Greyjoy's quietly laughing smile told Robb that it was a match made in Seven Hells indeed. He knew what every girl in the Seven Kingdom's looked like, it seemed at times.

"Which one?" asked Robb.

"Which ever you like. I could choose for you-"

"I will choose my _own_bride," insisted Robb with his wolf-blood flaring. There was a long pause. "Did you see any of them?"

"Some of them, I assume," said Lady Catelyn. "There were many."

"And?" asked Robb.

There was another long, uncomfortable pause. "..._One_ of them, Robb, could be..." He flared out his nose and turned away. "Robb, listen, I heard of your plots with Asha Greyjoy. It is a poor match." And his mother gave Theon a rather unreadable look. "We can negotiate it all after the fighting is done. The Lannisters still have your sisters, and the sooner we get Sansa back, the sooner a better match can be made to bring _peace_ to the Kingdoms."

_Gods_, thought Robb. _Gods, why? I'll do it, if I must. If this is what it takes, I will pay this price. Please, just make her a little pretty to look at_. He found himself praying as he went to sleep that night. _She doesn't have to be the greatest beauty in the land. But I do have to look at her once in a while_. And then a Raven found itself on his bedpost. The raven cawed and cawed, and as Robb woke up to see the raven was real, it said:

"_Tay-yahn. Tay-yahn," _it cawed.

"'Tay-yon?'" He rose and held his hand out to the Raven, who kept on cawing that same strange-sounding name.

"_Tay-ahn. Tay-yahn Greyjoy_."

Robb's heart beat hard suddenly, and a wave of shock. Lady Forel! She could never say Theon with her Bravos tongue, could she? She always called him Tay-ahn. Robb was so excited that he only shielded himself from the summer snows with a robe. He ran to Theon's tent, which was only the next one down, the raven on Robb's heels.

"Theon!" he called as he opened the flap, finding Theon hunched over a parchment, doubtlessly writing a letter to his love. He had written her so many letters, at least two-dozen by this point, and all of them had been without any answer, until now. "Theon, the raven! The raven from Cadenzsa."

"What?" cracked the Ironborn's voice.

"_Tay-ahn. Tay-yahn__ Greyjoy_."

"That's me!" gasped Theon, a smile on his lips that was so full of excitement and happiness that Robb had completely forgotten about his ill-fate. The raven came towards him, and Theon's deft fingers unfurled the letter. The seal was a red wax, and Theon quickly broke it. He came and paced as he read, and then he stopped. Robb frowned, and Theon's face slowly fell from a smile, into shrugging shoulders, and then his face twisted into what Robb thought would be tears. He then crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground, and stormed out of the tent, barefoot.

Robb was shocked. He quickly knelt and retrieved the crumpled parchment. It smelled of jasmine flowers, and as he sat on Theon's bed, he read:

"_My Sun and Stars,_

_This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I must tell you farewell. Goodbye. And, no, I cannot marry you._

_I am in Dorne, which is why I did not write you sooner. I am to wed Prince Quentyn Martell, and become a Princess of Dorne. It is the best possible match for me in all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and it is my hope that you can someday be happy for me. _

___In Braavos, there is an old legend about a Red Thread of Fate. The Gods tie red threads between those that are destined to meet. The thread can tangle, it can snag, but it can never be cut or never can break. I thought once that, and I still do think, that you and I are bound by that thread on our little fingers, and even though nothing will come of it, please know that the time I have spent with you had filled my heart with a joy that Time would lie down and be still for._

_Forget me, my Sun and Stars. Forget you knew me, and forget you knew my name. Life will be better suited to you, should you forget me._

_If you must, however, remember anything ever had I told you or said, remember only that you have a heart greater than mine, and a spirit stronger than mine ever will be. You have a strength in you upon which you have never drawn._

_Never let them break you. Never let them take you of your perfect personality. _

_Goodbye, my Sun and Stars. Forever._

_Cadenzsa."_

Robb thought for a moment that the stains on the papers were Cadenzsa's tears, but he soon realized that they were his own, weeping for the loss of hope for Theon's future, and his own.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

**Summary**:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

* * *

**Cadenzsa**

* * *

Sunspear was so beautiful.

Sunspear, warm and sunny, was so, unbelievably beautiful. From the tallest tower, you could see where the Dornish oasis turned into a beautiful sandy desert, all the way down, miles and miles and miles south. You could see the sea, too, from there, far, far in the horizon. Their clothes were light and soft, colored gossamer layered and layered and layered, and the Dornish people were wonderful and warm, once you got to know them. They ate together, and laughed together, and it was much warmer than the cold and icy mountains of the North.

These muddy forrests were hers, the deserts were hers, the city was hers. Sunspear was hers. Everybody loved her in Dorne, for it was a tiny piece of Essos in a big, cold, prudish Westerosi world. They were all Essosi, in a way, adopting the Rhoynish ways of the Andals, and Cadenzsa, under any other circumstances, would have been happy there. She would have been thrilled had she never met Theon. But perhaps Quentyn would someday light the fire within her.

She loved Sunspear, for it was like a holiday every day. Cadenzsa could do whatever she wanted in Dorne; she could lay warm on the sand, and bask in the sunny gardens, and wear bright gossamer-layered gowns of orange and red. It was interesting to her that red was a powerful color here, for red was usually only worn by the less wealthy in Braavos. Only the wealthiest could wear black, or the blackest-of-black-blues, and only those who had ties with the Iron Bank could wear purple. But red? Any commoner could wear red. Or orange. But here she was, betrothed to Quentyn Martell, wrapped in a sleeveless red gown that floated like paper in the wind.

The thing Cadenzsa loved the most about Sunspear, though, was Arianne, her new sister. She was three years her elder, and buxom and beautiful, with long curly black hair that was just like hers. Arianne was the heiress to Dorne, and the future ruling Princess of Sunspear, and Cadenzsa loved her all the more for it because that would mean Cadenzsa didn't have to be. Arianne liked Cadenzsa, too, for they were quite similar women, and they spent hours together, looking around at the noisy bazaars, Dancing til dusk. It was paradise, and it should have been paradise, Cadenzsa's dream, but she was greedy...she wanted Theon, still.

At least, she thought, she had never cried over it since she'd been here.

It would have been easier if Quentyn were at all more interesting. Gods, he was boring. Quentyn Martell was a kind of boring that is almost taken out of another place and time, before anyone had invented conversation or even awareness. He seemed fine enough, of course, but _Gods_, was he boring! Cadenzsa tried everything she could, every joke and jape, every song and dance, even wearing the copper circlets and gold bracelets he had bought for her when she had first arrived(even though they were less than quality she had expected of him), but he rarely ever smiled, _never_ laughed...it was as if the Gods had made a man, whole and complete, but forgotten to link up the chains that tied parts of his brain together that told him: "hey, it's alright to laugh." So Cadenzsa just stayed by Arianne's side, where she could enjoy a laugh once in awhile.

Cadenzsa had always dreamed about having a big sister, just like Arianne, beautiful and bold, just like her, to share stories with and to Dance with, to make fun of men with. They would even walk together, arm-in-arm, and Cadenzsa felt a closeness with her that she'd never felt with another woman before. Cadenzsa loved that Arianne was unmarried, too. She wished she could go unmarried, sometimes, but she was too valuable of an asset to not be wedded, and if she didn't marry Quentyn, Arianne and she would never be sisters.

"Arianne?"

"Yes, sweet girl?"

"May I ask something, in confidence?"

Arianne laughed, kicking her toes into the fountain she was walking on the lip of. "Always."

"And you won't be offended?"

She winked. "Where do you think you are?" They laughed. "I won't be offended."

"It's about Quentyn."

"Then I most-_definitely_ won't be offended." They laughed again.

"It's just that...he's..."

"I know, I know," she sighed, hopping gracefully onto the sandstone tiles of the palace's garden. "But, listen, not every man in the world can be handsome. He's sweet once you get to know him, and honorable, too."

"It's not that, I know a million handsome men!" groaned Cadenzsa, which caused Arianne to laugh, quite heartily. "It's just...he's boring." Arianne screamed with laughter. And she wrapped her beautiful dark-skinned arms around Cadenzsa's body.

"He's just shy," she said. "And serious. He's always been serious. But that's just who he is. You'd better accept that."

"I think it would just be easier for me were he not _so_ serious. _I'm _not serious."

"Well, you don't stick _two_ serious people in together in a marriage, nor should you stick two terribly interesting people in," said the Princess, holding Cadenzsa's hand as they walked through the gardens, into the blood orange tree grove. "That would be tedious and redundant."

"I suppose so," conceded the Dancing Master.

"One of you has to be boring, and that one is Quentyn. But don't mistake him being that way for any less of a good heart."

"I would never-!"

"-I know, sweet girl, I know. But it's just the way things are. But, if you really don't like him, you only have to see him on occasion. Masques, weddings, meetings of the court, and to make little Princes and Princesses someday, of course. Are you worried he's going to be bad at it?"

Cadenzsa's face went a little red. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Truly?" asked Arianne. "You know, were you to sneak into his room some night for a kiss now and then, I don't think anyone would look-"

"-Arianne!"

"Alright, alright, I'll have him sent to _your _room."

"Arianne, really, what kind of girl do you think I am?" This time, she was playing the part. When she liked someone, she had no qualms about lying in love with them. But she really had to like someone to do it. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure why she'd done it with Theon...she didn't know him well enough to like him, yet. Gods, stupid Theon, why was she thinking of him? She didn't want to! She wanted to think of Quentyn, and her wonderful future with him. "Maybe if he would just talk to me? Can't we spend some time together?"

"Quentyn has never been much of a talker, my dear," said her good-sister. "I will see what I can do, of course."

And then came Darry, who was shielding her fair skin and fair eyes from the bright Dornish sun. She didn't like to spend time outside if she could help it, for the sun burnt her quite easily, but she was here so it must have been important.

"My Lady," she said, "your mother wishes to see you."

Cadenzsa sighed through her nose. "Of course she does," she conceded with a smile. Arianne kissed her on the nose and smiled.

"We'll walk through the bazaar tomorrow, hm? Buy you some nice new clothes to make you feel better? You're going to be so pretty."

_I'm pretty already_, she thought, but shrugged and smiled and hurried off to see her mother. They were waiting for her father before they were to wed, and Cadenzsa had expected word from him soon. But the way they had ended their last conversation hadn't been a pretty one. In truth, Cadenzsa had told her father that...

Well.

She wasn't proud of what she had said. In truth, she regretted it, quite sorely.

But, that didn't matter _so _much, did it? There was nothing half-so unconditional as a father's love. _Papa_ knew that she hadn't really meant it, didn't he? Of course he did! He was her _Papa_. He knew that she loved him. And that she was very sorry. But he was working very hard to make Arya a Dancing Master, and that's why he was still there, in King's Landing. That was it, she was sure. That, and he was with Lord Stark, and aiding in his predicament.

Cadenzsa didn't really know much about politics, especially those in Westeros. She didn't care so much for the politics of who was whom and what was what. All she had heard was that Jaime Lannister, the Queen's brother, attacked Lord Stark some time ago, and a war was starting. Soon, Lord Stark would march back to the North and things between Houses Baratheon and Stark would be...well, over, Cadenzsa imagined. But it was good to have _Papa_ there, wasn't it? To protect Lord Stark? He had been so kind to Cadenzsa, and so generous...a Forel repaid their kindnesses, as it was surely the right thing to do. Cadenzsa owed the Starks many kindnesses, and she imagined that she'd stay to aid them if she could. But she was in Dorne, now, walking around the palace, to her mother's suite.

Cadenzsa's relationship with her mother was, one could say, strained. Why was it so?

Perhaps it was because when Cadenzsa, no matter how beautiful, was in the same room with her mother, she disappeared, paled. And, her mother lead a double-life. Nobody knew that Vanessi Forel, Lady of the Isle of Flowers, was the Veiled Lady, a courtesan of mystery and intrigue. Nobody knew this except for Cadenzsa, of course...sometimes, she wondered if her father even knew. But her grandmother didn't know, nor did her uncles, nor cousins, nor aunts. Nobody knew, for nobody ever saw the Veiled Lady's face. It was a good thing, too, for her mother was a special woman, blessed or cursed with a magical beauty, that all men who gaze upon her face will fall desperately in love with her.

And so it was that Vanessi Forel led the life of a hermit, appearing only when necessary, smiling and wearing white roses in her hair, which was a beautiful, coppery brown that laid in dark blankets over her slim shoulders. She was a beautiful woman with beautiful copper skin, and beautiful dark eyes that bewitched. She had a fabulous nose, and heart-shaped lips. Her mother's beauty was beyond compare, and Cadenzsa was in her shadow, always. Cadenzsa's lips were big and full, and her nose was the small, pug-like button, like her father's. Cadenzsa's wide almond-shaped eyes were her father's, too, and Cadenzsa's hair was the Forel curly-top, that had grown and grown and grown into waves of Mermaid's hair, as Theon once called it.

_Gods, why won't you stop thinking of Theon?! It's over! _Over_, I say! You've made sure of that, with that letter, haven't you?_

It didn't even hurt, anymore, to think of him. It just angered. But, no matter the anger over it, he did call her hair that of a Mermaid's once. It was in that cave, when they got caught in the storm. He peeled her wet gown away from her flesh, his breath hot enough to see in that cold cavern. The silhouette of his fingers came and combed through her hair, and he said into her ear: "This must be what Mermaids have." She heard his smile through the dark.

"_Won't they be missing us_?" she had asked.

"_Aye, they might_," he said, "_but I'll explain that we had to get out of the rain. The Starks will understand. They trust me_."

"_Are they right to_?" she had asked.

And then he peeled away her bodice to hang it on the rocks to dry. He laid down the blankets from his saddle, the ones that were still somewhat dry, and pushed her onto her back there. He smiled, and his fingers penetrated her. "_No_," he had then whispered, covering her breasts with his kisses, so gentle and tender that a silent tear rolled down the side of her face. Theon didn't see it.

And her mother never saw how much it hurt to be living in the shadow of the most-beautiful woman in the world, to yearn for a mother's love, unconditional and steadfast, when she simply couldn't be bothered. She fussed over Cadenzsa constantly, always buying her new clothes, new jewelry, insisting that her hair should be different, braided thusly or so, always trying to change her. She didn't want to change. Cadenzsa didn't want new clothes nor jewelry all the time. All she wanted was to throw those gowns of Myrish lace on the floor, stomp on them, and say '_I like myself the way I am.'_

Cadenzsa liked her grandmother much better, her Granmama`from whom she had been named, from whom she had learned her real airs and graces of a true Lady. Her mother had taste, of course, quite outlandish at that, and quite expensive. But Grandmother Cadenzsa was an elegant Bravosi Lady of social standing, a Prima Diva at the _Opera di Braavos_ for over a decade, an eternity in theater. She, unlike her mother, was the real Lady. Her mother knew her wines, her flowers, of course, but _Granmama`_ knew her jewels, her cuisine, her gowns and could distinguish from real Volanteen glass and not some cheap Lorathi imitation.

When Cadenzsa was a little girl, her _Granmama_` would pull out her golden jewelry boxes and lay out the black-blue velvet trays which held the rings, the necklaces, the earrings, the brooches, and hairnets. She had acquired a treasure trove of jewelry in her lifetime, jewels from Kings, visiting Magisters, merchants and Slave Masters. She would lay them out in front of her, and let her touch the jewels, those precious jewels, all exquisitely crafted, save a few that she kept helter-skelter in a stained pine box, carved beautifully from the forests of Qohor, ones which even Cadenzsa wasn't allowed to wear. The only reason she kept them was because she wanted her to have a basis for comparison.

_"Without knowledge of jewelry, my love, a woman is_ lost," she had said. _ "Only wear the First class jewels, Cadenzsa_," she had said. "_Wait until they come. They'll be given to you by the shy, the proud, the young and old, and the social-climbing Pentoshi, of course, because they think it represents status... __But hold onto the best for yourself, and only wear those of the first class, the first rate. Hold onto your ideals._"

Not that she had meant it, of course. If she had, she wouldn't have shut her out, cast her away, disowned her and her father, too, never to return to her home. What had she done that was so terrible? Dared to hold onto those ideals, is what. Loving Qavo, for one, was an ideal, and believing that she and the young Volanteen would have been happy together. Believing that the Sea Lord of Braavos would be understanding of her love was an ideal, too, as was the thought that men were truly decent, deep down._ Hold onto my ideals, indeed_, thought Cadenzsa bitterly.

Sometimes, she was so angry at the whole thing, she just wanted to stop people on the street, shake them and scream "_My family left me! They left me! They left me!_"

She fingered her ring, unconsciously. It was the ring she wore on the middle finger of her right hand, a yellow diamond, cushion cut, of the highest quality, surrounded by a setting of gold. The diamond was a small mountain on her copper-gold colored flesh, and it went well on her long fingers. The ring was a gift from her grandfather, before he died, on her fifteenth name-day. Even the ring made her think of Theon.

It was the day he had taken her into town for a drink, her nineteenth name-day, back in Winterfell. He had held out his arm for her, for the first time, and she had taken it. His leathers were thick against her layered silks and linens, and his cloak smelled of mud and dung, but Cadenzsa somehow liked it. She spotted the ring from across the square, and she would know it anywhere. She didn't know why she was surprised to see it, for those wildlings had strewn her jewels, her clothes, her shoes, all over during the scuffle, and she'd lost many things from her caravan. Theon must have noticed her shock, for he looked where she had been looking to see some tavern-wench wearing Cadenzsa's ring on her weather-beaten finger.

_"What's wrong?_" he had asked.

"_That woman is wearing my ring, one of the jewels the Wildlings stole. It was a name-day present. A yellow diamond of the first quality..._" Before Cadenzsa could finish, Theon had walked right over to the woman and demanded it back, as it was stolen property of Lady Cadenzsa Forel. She refused, since her husband had bought it for her. Her husband, some drunk, hadn't bought it, but won it in a game of dice. Theon set them straight, and returned with Cadenzsa's ring, and slipped it onto her finger.

"_Your ring, milady_."_  
_

When she knocked on her mother's chamber door, the door was already ajar. Her mother wasn't wearing her veil when she came to call; she knew Cadenzsa's knock like an old and familiar song. Her mother smiled at her. She must have seen the anger in Cadenzsa's face, for she brushed against her freckled cheek and wrapped her arms around her, tight.

"Don't think of it anymore, sweet lamb," cooed her mother. "_I_ love you. That's all you need."

"Perhaps, you're right..." whispered Cadenzsa, into her mother's perfumed shoulder.

"Now, now, no tears," suddenly admonished her mother. Cadenzsa didn't realize she'd started to well. She laughed it off, trying to wipe her eyes. "Look what an awful face you make when you cry," she said. Cadenzsa laughed again. "Dancing Masters don't cry, remember?"

Cadenzsa shrugged. She crossed over and sat on her mother's bed. "Quentyn's boring," she sighed. "He's not even pretty. Can't you mix a potion to make him interesting?"

Vanessi smiled, shook her head, and sat down next to her daughter. "One thing you must learn about the Westerosi, my lamb, is that to a Westerosi, a husband is for _getting_, not for looking at."

In spite of everything, she laughed, her thumb and forefinger rocking the ring back and forth on her right hand. "I just wish..."

"Lamb, be happy with what you have. It may not be the Volanteen, but at least you'll not be living in the Slaver's Bay. I know you wouldn't like that." Cadenzsa nodded at that, for her mother was right. She didn't want to own slaves. "You get everything you could desire here. A palace by the sea-"

"I know, I know... Everything here is so beautiful!" She meant it when she said it, as she crossed over to the window and looked over her new home. "But why am I unhappy? Where are you, little God of Love? Why have you not yet shot me with your arrow?"

"'Arrow?'" laughed Lady Forel. "Where did you get the idea that there is a God of Love that shoots arrows?"

"I don't know," she said, staring blankly out the window. She felt her mother's arms come around her from behind; she smelled like roses and myrrh.

"I want us to be happy here. I know what your grandmother did to you was hard. I know you're very angry right now, as well, and you've every right to be. You can be angry for awhile, if you like. I'll smile for the both of us."

It wanted to feel good. Cadenzsa wanted to take comfort in all of it, but she soon began to realize that her own jealousy was keeping her from loving her mother the way she wanted to. She was too hurt; too angry. She wanted it all to go away. She wanted someone there to break down the walls she had built around herself. But her father wasn't there.

"I think it's time we talked about what happened between you and your father."

Cadenzsa quickly turned around and pushed herself away from her mother. "Nothing happened!"

"Which means something happened."

"I don't _want_ to talk about it." She crossed her arms.

"No, but you're going to. Because I'm your mother, and you have always done as your mother says, my obedient little lamb."

She was right. Shit.

"Sit down, and tell me what happened."

"Do I have to look at you while I do it?"

"If you must turn away, you must. But speak, you will, and speak now of it." Cadenzsa sat at the table and began eating grapes. Well, not eating, really, but rather stuffing her cheeks so full with them that she couldn't speak. "Spit those out." She did, begrudgingly. "Recall to me the day you left King's Landing. And do it now."

She didn't want to, but she had to. Cadenzsa, if nothing, was not loyal and obedient. Wild that she was, she always did as her parents told her. Her mother had told her once that she was just _made_ to follow, but Cadenzsa was only just now beginning to understand what that meant, knowing of her mother's power, her magic, the curse of her gorgeous face. So beautiful...if only...

"I was readying myself to leave, when I...found something. A lot of somethings, actually..."

"And?" Her mother asked. There was a pause. Cadenzsa's gut felt twisted and sick. Her mother stood, poured her a goblet of Dornish red, and when she offered it to her, Cadenzsa took the bottle instead. Her mother shrugged with a laugh and went to sit as Cadenzsa downed half the bottle.

"They were letters. To me. All hidden away in _Papa_'s room. They were letters from..." She began to choke on her words. She wretched inwardly, as if something was tearing to come out but her body wouldn't allow it. Her mother was growing impatient.

"If you don't get to it, I'll set you in front of the mirrors."

Her instinct was to scream 'no, please don't!', but her pride kept her from doing it. She swallowed more wine. Those enchanted black mirrors would get the truth from her, one way or the other. They'd show what had happened. How she'd found the pile of letters, how she'd torn through them in hysteria, how she'd run screaming from their beautiful house in King's Landing to the docks, how she'd fell to her knees and screamed at the top of her lungs '_why' _when she had found what they had said. The mirrors would show her father dragging her by the wrist, and then by her arm when she refused to go. The mirrors would show her, anger-stained face, twisted with hate, screaming profusely: '_I will never forgive you for this_.'

"They were from someone. A man. _Papa_ hid them from me. He didn't want me to think that he wanted to be with me, too."

Her mother's expression softened. "You haven't wanted to be with anyone since..."

"I know."

"Are you saying you want to, now?"

Cadenzsa closed her eyes and shook her head, feeling defeated. "I can't," she said. "I just can't. It's done. I told him goodbye forever." Her mother came and brushed her cheek, a little surprised to not find tears there. "I have spent too long crying over him," she said. "And there's not future. _Papa_ was right."

"Don't tell me you fell for some pauper," chortled her mother.

Her anger would have flared, had she the kindling within her to let it burn. She shook her head instead. "A Lord," she said softly.

"Lord Stark's boy?" asked the Dothraki.

Cadenzsa shook her head again. "Robb is very nice. Too nice. And young...none of which are qualities I hold in high regard."

"Lord Stark himself, then?" japed Lady Forel. Cadenzsa would have shot her mother an indignant look, had her eyes not been so weary with defeat. "I need a name, lamb."

"Don't look in the mirrors on him," begged Cadenzsa, tiredly. "I don't want to see him. I want to forget him, as I've told him to forget me."

"Now, why in Gods' name would you want someone to forget _you_? Nobody could ever forget my Cadenzsa."

"I want him to forget me. I want him to forget he ever knew my name. I wish I could forget his... Can you help me forget him?"

"Is that _really_ what you want?" Her mother came and knelt in front of her, holding her hands. "If this man is the first in three years to come close enough to you to make you like this, do you think it's worth risking?" Cadenzsa's face twisted, she bit her lip. "I only want you to be happy. This isn't the first time I've turned the world upside-down for you. I won't mind doing it again, my lamb." Cadenzsa shook her head, her lip trembling. She then cupped her daughter's face, holding her jaw with one hand. "Why aren't you crying?"

"Because I'm not." Her voice cracked, but not tears came.

"You cried for weeks over Qavo. _Why_ aren't you crying?"

"This _isn't_ Qavo."

She looked, then, for a long time in her daughter's eyes. She saw her mother's eyes, bright, pale green, a rare treasure that the Dothraki stock has. Pale copper flesh, brown-black hair, thick lips, thick like her fathers, like hers. A look of terror came across through her eyes.

"You've cast a spell on yourself," she said suddenly, in Dothraki. Cadenzsa tensed. "What have you done?" whispered her mother. "Are you mad? Your gifts have not yet fully bloomed. This will turn into a curse!"

"Good," hissed Cadenzsa through clenched teeth. "Better I feel emptiness."

"I will not let this swallow you." Cadenzsa was thrice the strength of her mother, but she didn't struggle when she pulled her up by the wrist. It hurt, how hard she was twisting, and she brought her to the mirrors. She shoved her down to her knees. "Stay there." She obeyed, and she wished that she wouldn't have obeyed. Everything her parents said, she _had_ to listen, and _had_ to obey.

"Please don't..." she begged, bound down by the chains of her own hollowness. "Please don't make me look..."

"This is for your own good. I will not let my daughter be swallowed by a curse." And the tapestries came down on all three mirrors, twice Cadenzsa's height, and wide. Her head bent, shaking her head, her pretty black hair falling down over her face and shoulders and arms.

"Show me how to break the spell that my daughter has cast on herself!" her mother said, and Cadenzsa looked up, and Theon stood before them, in the Star Mirror, tall and lean, with a whiskered chin and that same curled hair, that same crooked smile. Her mother asked "Who is he?" A golden krakken swam in the black depths of the mirror, injured, missing one or two of its legs. "How does he know my daughter?"

Winterfell's towers showed against the black glass, and the red falling leaves of the weirwood tree danced in a breeze that was not there. An arrow came flying across the glass, and into a red, beating heart, which bled with white jasmine petals, falling. Cadenzsa watched, as she saw their shadows together in the cave, in his room, talking, holding hands. And then it showed them together, in the Godswood, at dusk. She heard his voice, clear as a mountain stream.

"_Has your father decided whom you should wed to, Cadenzsa?_"

"_Are you asking?_" came her own voice, thick with the Free Cities, happier, almost foreign to her ears.

"..._Yes_."

She smiled, a forgotten smile, one she hadn't shown in a very, very long time. It was a smile she'd forgotten that she had. "_Yes_."

Theon's reflection frowned. "_Are you saying 'yes' to me asking you to marry me, or 'yes' to if you were betrothed to anyone yet?_"

"_Yes," _said Cadenzsa again.

"_No, but was that 'yes' or...'_yes'_?__"_

Cadenzsa's reflection leaned in. "_Yes_." Theon's face...etched in her memory. He then knelt into the soft ground.

"_If I'm going to, I should ask you properly._"

"_No, shekh ma shieraki, please_." Cadenzsa's reflection smiled. "_Please, don't ask me again until you are free and home. What I wouldn't give to go home again. One of us should have a home to ask the other one to come to._"

Theon rose. "_When I go home to the Iron Islands, then? I'll ask you then, and you'll say yes."_

_"__I already have."_

_"Cadenzsa..._"

"Where is this boy?" said her mother.

The mirror then changed, and the Sun Mirror reflected Theon, by Robb Stark's side, armor-clad and face-spattered with blood, like drops of wine on a porcelain plate. They were at war, a war the Lannisters began, and the Starks were now fighting in. Splendid in his Northern armor, he had his bow, which was all he needed. The velvet covers came over each of the mirrors. Cadenzsa sighed.

"What's his name, Cadenzsa?"

"Theon Greyjoy," she murmured.

"Greyjoy... Why does that sound familiar?"

"Perhaps _Papa_ told you, while he didn't tell me?"

"Told me what?" Cadenzsa shot her mother a look. "Were those letters from him? And your father-?"

"Hid them from me, yes. He hid at least three-dozen letters, all written from Theon. 'Cadenzsa, come back. Cadenzsa, why haven't you written me?' 'Cadenzsa, I have permission to wed you, and I'll be Lord of the Iron Islands again once Lord Stark comes back from the South.' 'Cadenzsa, Robb is planning on wedding my sister, so I can wed you now.' 'Cadenzsa, Lord Stark is captive in King's Landing, so stay there until I come for you.' 'Cadenzsa, we are marching on the South. Stay there and stay safe.' 'Cadenzsa, are you still in King's Landing? Why haven't I heard from you?' 'Cadenzsa, please tell me that somebody hasn't managed to kill you!' 'Cadenzsa, Cadenzsa, Cadenzsa...'" She sighed. Her mother came and sat on the floor next to her.

"What happened?"

"I found them... And _Papa_...he made me... He _made_ me..."

"Made you what, lamb?"

Cadenzsa shook her head, her eyes feeling as if they were about to burst. "He made me write to Theon and tell him goodbye. He twisted my arm so hard... He _made_ me..."

"You didn't want to write him a farewell."

"He _made_ me do it, _Maisi_. He _made_ me!"

"Hush, you're becoming hysterical," soothed Vanessi Forel, cradling her head against her chest.

"I can't cry! I threw his cloak into the ocean and vowed I would never cry again!"

"Cadenzsa, shush, my love... It's going to be alright, I swear it. But you must tell me in which way you wish to live."

"I don't understand."

"Do you want to be rid of these memories forever, truly?" asked _Maisi_. "If I wipe your memory completely of Theon Greyjoy, you will be free to love Quentyn Martell all you like. And be a Lady of Dorne forever, and I'll be with you. You'll get that happy ending you were robbed of..."

"_Maisi..._"

"Or, I can wipe the memories of the Martells, all of them, so it will be as if we were never here, and we will go seek out this Theon Greyjoy, together."

Cadenzsa's black heart skipped, and she felt it begin to beat again. And then it stopped. "I don't care about myself, anymore... I just want Theon to be happy. He saved my life. He is the one that deserves the happy ending. If there is one to be had, I'd rather him than I."

Vanessi Forel shook her head in horror, as if the words coming out of her daughter's mouth were that of a stranger's. "We have to find a way to break this curse. We have to find this Theon Greyjoy. There's only one way to do that..." And she, in one rush, jumped up and pulled the purple velvet off of the Star Mirror alone. "Show us the future of Theon Greyjoy, without Cadenzsa in his life."

The screams coming from the tower caused all the birds to fly away, for what Cadenzsa saw next was anything but a happy ending.

* * *

Read. Review. Blarhgh.

Sorry this one took me so long! I was on a tangent with "The Grey Lady" and realized that I hadn't updated this one... Ahhh, sigh. Dothraki Maegi. Magic. Potions. Love. Feels. Emo. Family.

But, hey, now we have some fleshed-out stuff, don't we? Man, I'm glad for days off. Also, in case you didn't know, _Maisi_ is the Dothraki word for 'mother.'

Anyway, this is the point where the stories begin to cross, for we see that Cadenzsa is seeing Theon's future with Ramsay Snow, the flaying, the betrayal...all the feels that GoT gives us. She's obviously upset about it. As for these magic mirrors? They're explained in LARGE detail in The Grey Lady, but they're basically these black, dragonglass mirrors that show you neat shit. And Cadenzsa's mother, a Dothraki _maegi_, knows how to use them quite well. Why doesn't this get explained? Because this is Cadenzsa's chapter, and she knows what they are already.

Hugs n' kisses! (by the way, if you're curious as to who would play Vanessi Forel, google Aishwarya Rai)


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